Fifty Shades Lighter
by fiftyshadesfreak
Summary: What if Jose's art show had never happened, and Ana and Christian didn't get back together so quickly? What if while becoming the target of a crazy ex-sub, a jealous Mrs. Robinson, and a perverted boss, Ana also found herself seeking solace with Ethan after he returns from Barbados? Will she pick the darker path that leads back to Christian or the lighter one that leads to Ethan?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, it's always bothered me how fast Christian convinced Ana to jump back into a relationship.**

**And at the same time, I've always had an attraction to the character Ethan. Because he seems to be the polar opposite of Christian, it makes sense that Ana might find comfort with him after being so heartbroken. But at what costs? What would happen if Ana found herself attracted to someone other than the mega-mogul? **

**Throw in Ethan's long-time feelings for Ana; Leila, Elena, and Jack and we have a thousand "WHAT IF?" questions.**

**To all of my followers – A lot of you have said that what you enjoy about my writing is the "happy place" it provides among all the cheating and angst stories. And I just want to reassure you that it's not changing. No worries! There will be some sadness just because Christian and Ana are broken up right now, but I promise it won't be too bad and it will get better. Basically, this is just a different version of Fifty Shades Darker. **

**Happy reading Everybody!**

* * *

Can someone really die from a broken heart?

I mean, it sounds ludicrous, but I can't help but wonder.

I've heard the saying for as long as I can remember; heard stories of healthy dogs just up and dying after losing a companion; it's even a belief that Johnny Cash died of a broken heart after his wife June passed away before him.

Before, I would've said that it isn't, but now – standing here, reorganizing my book shelf for the thousandth time just to kill time before bed – I'm seriously starting to reconsider.

And if it's true, then I'm pretty sure I'm about to keel over dead any second now.

It's been 10 days since the fallout with Christian. 10 days since I walked out on him.

10 days of hell.

Pain isn't really the word I would use to describe it…I think "agonizing misery" is probably more apt.

I never would have imagined that it was possible to miss someone like this. It feels as if a piece of myself has been ripped out of me and has been missing for 10 days as well.

Everyday I wake up, and my first thought shoots to Christian. All during my routine, my mind keeps flickering again and again to him – how much I miss him; what he's doing; if he's thinking about me nearly as much as I'm think about him; if he misses me…

_Who the hell are you kidding? _My subconscious sneers at me. _He doesn't miss you! _

I know she's right – there's no way Christian truly misses me. If anything, he misses controlling me…hitting me…I wince.

The memories flicker across my mind like a bright flash from a camera – painfully blinding and instantly staggering. The lash of a leather belt against my skin and the harsh words which flew from my lips like a defense mechanism afterward…

My breath catches, and I find myself on the verge of tears yet again.

I fight them off, not wanting to feel even weaker than I already do. I've cried, sobbed, bawled, wept, and sniveled for the past week and a half, and it's starting to seriously wear on my nerves – not to mention my face. My cheeks and eyes have been perpetually sore from all the torrential salt water and consistent rubbing from brushing away tears.

Luckily, I've been able to detach myself enough so that I don't make any scenes at work. Though, there were a couple of times I let my mind get away from me, and before I knew it, I could feel my eyes start to prick. But a short trip to the bathroom and a two-minute mental pep talk in front of the mirror was all it took to pull myself together long enough to make it through the rest of the day.

Of course, when I got home, it started all over again.

After a couple days, I started fighting it off whenever I could, trying to convince myself that this proved I was getter better. Instead of relenting to the urge to cry, I resisted – I teared up, welled up, choked up, and had just about every other suppressed rise in emotion; but it doesn't really help – it only lasts for a max of ten minutes before I can hold on no longer.

It's been even worse without Kate here. Coming home all the time to a completely empty new apartment that I'm still trying to get used to in a new city is beyond depressing – just adding to my already fragile state.

"Get it together, Steele," I say out loud, taking a deep breath and blowing it back out heavily. My voice sounds strange in the quiet apartment where the only noise comes from the flat screen TV I keep on just so I don't go completely bonkers from the silence.

I finally move from the bookcase, back toward my bed, plopping down on the edge as I rest my elbows against my knees. Out of habit, I glance at the digital clock on the bedside table, finding it still too early to turn in – Well, too early for anyone under the age of 70.

But my glance makes me catch sight of something else – the white card that's been laying face-down in that same spot for a week.

I sigh. I know I'm right about Christian not missing me, but he at least was _thinking _about me two days after I left.

The following Monday – my first day at work – I received a big bouquet of white roses with the card. Its message was unexpected, but highly formal.

Congratulations on your first day at work.

I hope it went well.

And thank you for the glider. That was very thoughtful.

It has pride of place on my desk.

Christian

The delivery came like a heavy blow to the gut, leaving me stunned and gasping for air. I vaguely wonder if he did it on purpose – knowing that I told him I didn't want reminders. What? Does he think I'm not in enough pain for leaving him, and just wants to exacerbate my open wounds, practically rubbing salt in them?

Or is this his way of trying to smooth things between us so that they're isn't any hard feelings? I have absolutely no idea how this Dom/Sub relationship works most of the time, or how people usually handle a termination of said relationship, but maybe that's what it was about. Sort of like a parting gesture I guess.

But no matter if it was a gesture or gift or just some way to keep toying with me, I had only one response to it. I promptly tossed the two dozen roses in the trash, where my heart still feels like it is as well.

For some reason, though, I couldn't get rid of the card. Partly due to the overanalyzing thing I've been doing, trying to figure out the intention behind it; and partly due to the fact that I'm a total idiot.

In my still-love stricken brain, I rationalized these words would very well be the last I ever hear from him. And though they ring hallow and emotionless in their formality, I still can't bring myself to destroy the card – burn it, like I know I should. It would be far healthier than desperately holding onto them, like a life-preserver in a thrashing ocean which keeps pulling me under.

Or better yet – like a dog, begging at the dinner table. So desperate for the attention of its master that it will accept anything, even just tiny crumbs, with the utmost enthusiasm. In that metaphor, I'd be the dog and the card would be the crumbs dropped to the floor by Christian – the master. Heh. Kind of ironic, huh?

I shake my head sadly. I can't help but wonder if maybe I really would have made a good submissive after all. Because only a true masochist would do this – sit around, wallowing in the worst kind of self-inflicted pain.

But through it all, I know one thing is still true – I'm alive.

And as long as I'm alive, I'll get through this. I'm not a complete dimwit – I know it will take time, but I will heal eventually. There's no doubt in my mind that I will always love Christian Grey – or maybe just the man I hoped he would turn out to be, but didn't – but life will go on, and soon, so will I.

It's already slowly starting to happen – my crying spells aren't quite so bad, not quite so long. I don't dream quite as vividly about him as I was at first. And I'm slowly learning to keep breathing without feeling like I'm drowning.

But as badly as I want to heal, I am nowhere near ready to let him go. The thought ignites a painful stab.

I might not be able to have Christian Grey in my life, but the memories and unrequited love are what's keeping me afloat just as much as they're working to drown me. A two-edged sword which fights to keep me going and moving forward at the same time as it slices deep into me.

Suddenly, I hear the dryer's loud signal going off, alerting me that the load of laundry is ready to take out and making me jump out of my skin.

I try to shake off my sulky reverie and trudge to the dryer where I pull out the freshly washed set of sheets and linens.

I gather them up into a heap in my arms and shuffle down the hall into the guest bedroom which is right between mine and Kate's. I toss them into the wide lounge chair in the corner and start fishing out which sheets I need to make up the bed.

I've been trying to busy myself by preparing for Ethan's arrival tomorrow. He gets back from Barbados and plans on crashing here for a while until he finds a place of his own.

He called today to remind me and to let me know when his flight landed. I gave him my work number for him to call tomorrow when he was ready to come by and pick up the keys to the apartment.

I really haven't been able to decide on how I feel about having him around. Part of me is dreading it – having to subject another person to my emotional wreckage; while the other part is downright delighted. One reason is knowing I won't be alone anymore. No more deafeningly loud silences.

Another reason is simply because I really enjoy hanging around Ethan. He's an absolute teddy bear of a guy who I've never once seen get worked up about anything. During his visits to Kate at WSU, we actually became quite fond of each other.

Last summer, he even spent several hours teaching me to ride his Ducati – a sleek, black motorcycle – after he caught me ogling it.

My lips curve just a smidge on the sides in a ghost of a smile as I recall the first pleasant memory in 10 days – the first memory of someone other than Christian. Bless his heart, Ethan spent the better part of a day trying to pass on his skills to me. It wasn't a natural ability, so it took a lot of extra time.

But Ethan never once lost patience. Never once got outdone or annoyed with my sluggish pace.

Instead, he was the one who convinced me to keep trying even when I wanted to just quit and consider it a lost cause.

The consideration he showed that day really struck me at the time. Now, knowing that that type of patient understanding is what I need, I start thinking it will actually be good having him around – if nothing more than for his humor and company to dispel the loneliness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ana, I need the revised version of that brochure emailed back to me," my boss, Jack, calls from his office.

"Kay," I answer, already getting to it.

I sigh and do as I've been asked, trying to work the scowl off my face. I barely slept last night – I was too busy tossing and turning. And dreaming.

I thought my dreams were getting better, but last night was particularly bad – entirely too vivid. Even now, the images start flooding back to me, despite my best efforts to keep them away.

I see the same scene all over again – Christian, plain as day, sitting at the piano, with me right beside him as I watch him display his talent, with his fingers flowing over the keys. At first, he turns to grin at me, looking as carefree and beautiful as ever.

But as the dream goes on, something creeps into the visual – first, just a bad feeling, then it becomes apparent, with the lighting getting darker and our surroundings feeling almost sinister. Even the song Christian is playing starts sounding menacing.

All of a sudden, Christian ceases to play. Instead he turns to me, gazing down at me with a familiar look – cold, calculated, commanding. His Dom look. It sends a shiver down my spine, both in my dream and now, as I sit here at work recalling it against my will.

But as I tear my mesmerized eyes away from his, I realize our surroundings have completely changed. We are no longer at the piano – we're surrounded by crimson red walls. As I look closer, I notice the huge matching bed, and a cross equipped with restraints on every end mounted on the furthest wall.

The playroom.

Disoriented, I whip my head back to Christian, but he's not standing in the same place. He's moved to the side, looking like he's circling around me. Only then, do I notice the implement in his hand. A black, leather belt. He walks in a circle all the way around me, coming to a stop when we're facing each other again.

Stroking my cheek with his fingertips, he leans down, bringing his lips up to mine but stopping, not kissing me. "Run," he whispers.

Then, everything disappears, leaving me gasping as I wake up in the middle of the night. Or rather now, at work, feeling pain lance through me. He told me to run – and run is what I did.

Now, I'm left to spend every waking second looking back at what I ran from, unable to stop longing to return to it.

But I know I can't.

I left for a reason – I'm not cut out to be what Christian wants. To give him what he needs. There was a time when I deluded myself into believing otherwise, but I was proven horribly wrong in the end. I knew – still know – that if I stayed, I would just be prolonging the inevitable, stringing us both along for something that could never work. And then I would've been even worse off by getting even more involved – even more invested in a love that would never be returned.

I can't help it when my thoughts flicker back to everything Christian said during our short time together – about how he never wanted more, but was willing to try for me; how he was going to miss me when I left for Georgia; how I'd bewitched him…

I shake my head sadly, the memories shattered by a more recent one – his face when I finally told him I loved him, the shock, downright horror. Obviously, he wasn't nearly as serious about me as I was about him.

I sigh again, completely outdone with myself at this point. _Of course he wasn't serious about you! You were a sex toy! _

But, even if I were pathetic enough to go crawling back, begging him to put me out of my misery, I can't do that either. He told me himself once that if I left, that would be it – our agreement would be terminated.

I swallow convulsively – that's all we ever had, an agreement, not a relationship. The fact that I managed to believe otherwise makes me want to practically spank myself.

In fact, I imagine that he's looking into getting a new submissive – one that will actually obey, follow the rules unlike me. One that can actually meet his needs, do the things that he wants. Maybe he has one already.

The thought literally makes me nauseous, my stomach giving a sickening roll. Suddenly, I'm glad that it's been mostly empty recently or else I'd be rushing to the bathroom to hurl up its contents.

But I'm pretty sure my appetite was left behind with my heart when I fled from Escala. I haven't been able to stomach a real meal since then. In fact, I didn't eat at all for three and a half days. Just when I thought I might keel over because of the lack of energy, I started forcing down light snack foods – bananas, energy bars, yogurt, and even some Pringles. My clothes are fitting looser, and I can see a couple of bones a little more prominently. So, if I don't die of that broken heart first, then I may very damn well die of starvation.

Both ways are entirely too slow for my liking though.

All of a sudden, the phone's shrill ring breaks my out of my stupor, making me jump, startled.

I reach for it. "Jack Hyde's office; Anastasia Steele speaking."

"Steele! How's it going?" a carefree, breezy voice greets me.

Surprised, I answer. "Ethan? I thought you weren't supposed to get here for another two hours?"

"Yeah, well, I caught an earlier flight. It's almost lunch time – do you get a break soon?"

I glance at the clock, satisfied with the answer. "Yeah. I usually go to lunch in about fifteen minutes."

"Great! I'm already in a taxi on my way. Wanna grab some lunch together?" he asks happily.

His cheer is infectious – even to me, in my distraught, fragile state. "That sounds great. There's a little bistro right down the street where I usually pick my boss's lunch up – how about there?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. I'll see you soon then," I say.

"Kay. Laters," he responds, ending the call.

The parting line takes my breath momentarily, not having heard it in too long. As I return the phone to its cradle, I have to remind myself that it was Eliot's line, not Christian's. So there's no reason to associate it with only Christian, though it's hard not to.

Feeling the first bit of excitement in what feels like an eternity, I return to the work in front of me with more enthusiasm now.

Sure enough, just less than twenty minutes later, I get a call from Claire in reception.

"There is a blonde god out here in the waiting room, asking for you," she begins as soon as I answer.

The statement almost makes me want to smile. Almost. But not quite.

"Zeus or Adonis?" I ask flatly.

"Forget them. This guy looks like their younger, better looking brother," she whispers.

"Well, tell him to keep Pegasus outside and I'll be there in just a minute," I tell her just before hanging up.

I rise from my desk, peeking into Jack's office. "Going to lunch. What would you like?"

"The usual is fine," he answers distractedly before looking up to give me his full attention. "Have a good lunch, sweetheart."

I nod, turning away, as I try not to shudder at the inappropriate nickname. This is only my second week here. He not only doesn't know me near well enough to be using a pet name, but he's also my boss…not exactly the best position to be in for someone to call you 'sweetheart'. The thought just enforces what I've been feeling all along here – uncomfortable.

I don't know what it is, but there's something off with my new employer. Something out of the ordinary. Already, there's been too many times where he's gotten just a little too close, or acted a little too familiar.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts – I'm sure it's just my imagination. I've had so much going on in my head, that I'm certain that I'm probably not seeing anything clearly right now.

Hiking my purse onto my shoulder, I turn and make my way out, entering into reception. First, I spot Claire, sneakily stealing glances across the room. I follow her eyes and see what all her hype is about.

Immediately, I'm met with a pair of bright, hazel eyes flickering in my direction. I stop short. _Wow. Vacation's really agreed with Ethan. _

His naturally dirty blond hair is lighter than the last time I saw him from being in the sun, and his skin has been tanned a gorgeous, olive color, making his hair and eyes stand out even more.

The sight is set off even more by the huge, gleaming smile that stretches across his face when he sees me.

I smile in response to his grin, as he rises from his seat on the sofa with a huge, black duffle bag in tow. He meets me halfway, taking a few long strides toward me.

"Long time, no see, Steele," he says, spreading his arms wide to catch me in a huge hug. I let my arms wrap around him as I usually would. But when he doesn't pull away immediately, I can't help when I squeeze just a little tighter as I lean into the warm embrace.

This is the first physical contact I've had from anybody in what feels like a very, very long time, and it's…nice. It's warm, and comforting in way that I wouldn't have expected. But I'm not sure if that's because it's coming from Ethan – a warm and comforting person – or because I'm just so starved for the company of another human being.

Either way, I enjoy the hug just enough until we pull apart, but he doesn't release me entirely, keeping his hands resting on my shoulders to keep me at arm's distance as he looks me up and down.

"Whoa, Steele…" he says, a small frown marring his lovely face. "Have you been dieting? You've lost a lot of weight."

I can't stop the scarlet blush that spreads across the face, warming my cheeks with the first emotion other than grief or anger for a week and a half now.

"Not exactly. Just been busy," I try to brush it off.

"Well, you still look as beautiful as ever," he comments, inciting more blood to rise to my cheeks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Claire still staring in our direction. Apparently, Ethan sees something off in my face because he glances back up at me with a slightly quizzical look in his eyes.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine," I lie straight through my teeth, praying I sound convincing. He looks at me for another moment, seeming to scrutinize me for a second before nodding, letting his hands drop from my shoulders.

"Let's go to lunch then," he suggests, letting his grin return full force to his face.


	3. Chapter 3

At my insistence, Ethan leaves his bag with Claire – what with it being a little too big to be carrying into a restaurant.

We stroll down the street toward the small place I come everyday to fetch Jack's lunch. I've never gotten anything for myself, never being hungry.

"So, how was Barbados?" I make an attempt at easy conversation as we walk leisurely.

"Sunny," he answers with another smile. "And the best waves to surf."

"Been hanging ten?" I ask with a lift of my eyebrow. I knew Ethan surfed occasionally whenever he went somewhere suitable for it.

"Pretty much all I did," he responds. "It was either that or sit around and watch my little sister undress Elliot with her eyes every two minutes."

He shudders dramatically, making me give a courteous laugh, though it rings hollow, with no real enthusiasm behind it. It feels as if I don't even remember how to laugh anymore.

"How are Kate and Eliot?" I wonder out loud, truly curious.

He gives a light shrug. "Pretty serious, I'd say. I've never seen Kate so wrapped up in a guy – not even in high school. And Eliot seems pretty taken with her as well. Good thing too – I told him if he hurt her, I'd have his balls."

I crack a smile, as Ethan glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Big brothers – always so protective. It's endearing to know that Ethan is no exception.

"But he's fun to hang out with and Mom and Dad seem to like him too. So I guess it's looking pretty good for them."

"When do they get back?" I ask, hope rising in my voice. I've missed Kate more than words can say, especially now.

He shrugs again. "They were supposed to fly back Friday, but I think they might stay an extra few days – come back sometime next week, maybe."

I nod, biting back my disappointment at this news. I know that if I asked her, Kate wouldn't hesitate to come back, knowing I needed her. But I wouldn't dare. She doesn't even know that Christian and I aren't together anymore. At least not from me – though I don't know if Eliot may have found out and told her. But I doubt it– doubt that Christian would bother to tell anyone.

As if he can read my thoughts, Ethan turns to me as we walk. "What about you? How's Grey?"

I can't stop the cringe at the mention of his name. _Shit! I was really hoping this wouldn't come up. _

"I don't know," I answer honestly, trying to control my face and voice as much as possible, but I still don't meet his eyes. "We're not together anymore."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ethan's expression turn to one of shock. "Really? Wow. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay," I say as nonchalantly as possible. Thankfully, before he can respond, we arrive at the door to the restaurant which Ethan reaches to open for me, always the gentleman.

I walk through it, using the brief moment that he's behind me to blow out a huge breathe, trying to collect myself.

_It's just Ethan, Ana. Get a grip. You have to get used to telling people you broke up with Christian. _

The next second when Ethan joins my side again, I somehow feel better, more pulled small restaurant isn't crowded yet, so we walk straight to the counter without having to wait in line. I order Jack's usual choice, not really knowing what I want.

"What's good here?" Ethan asks me.

"I'm really not quite sure. I've never eaten here myself – I just come here for my boss's lunch."

Although I'm staring up at the chalkboard menu on the wall, I still catch a glimpse when Ethan turns and gives me a small frown again.

After a few more seconds, we both order the same thing, agreeing it sounds the best out of all of it – grilled turkey and cheese sandwich with homemade chips. Ethan orders a cappuccino and I get an iced tea with lemon.

I reach for my purse to pay the cashier when Ethan stops. "Nah ah. I don't think so, Steele – this is my treat."

My protests are useless and ignored as Ethan pays anyway and ushers me to an isolated table off in the corner away from the others. We sit with our drinks to wait for our food.

As we settle into a comfortable silence, I look up to find Ethan blatantly staring at me.

"What?" I ask, going red again. He shakes his head slightly, his eyebrows moving closer together.

"Are you sure you're okay, Ana?" he asks, looking at me with concern shining brightly from his hazel eyes, earnest.

"I'm fine," I lie again, taking a nervous sip of my tea. I forgot that Ethan was just like Kate – he sees _everything. _Though he's not nearly as brazen about things as Kate is. They've both chosen the perfect careers – a journalist and psychiatrist. The talent will come in handy for both of them.

Ethan narrows his eyes, clearly not convinced. I stare back, hoping the fake sincerity that I try putting in my expression helps to back me up.

"Ana – you don't have to do that," Ethan says, leaning back in his chair as his face softens.

"Do what?" I ask instinctively.

"Lie," he answers. "This is about you and Grey, isn't it?"

I tense, feeling like I'm bracing for impact from the sudden change of topic. I sigh, glancing back at Ethan's sincere face. "It hasn't been exactly easy," I allow. "But it's getting better."

Well, that last part was at least half-true. Sort of. It's not that the pain is going away, but I'm getting stronger to bear it – an automatic defense against such a destructive force that threatens to be the end of me.

Ethan nods understandingly, but before he can say anything, our order is called and he jumps up to go get it.

I lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath. I guess I should have been more prepared for just how hard it was going to be talking about all of this. Obviously, I knew it would come up, I just didn't think about what I was going to say. I've been far too busy being absorbed with the fact that it happened at all, not stopping to consider the excuses I would need to explain it away to people.

I will have to think about it some more over the next few days. Ethan is one thing, but Kate is going to be an entirely different story.

I know she will probably hound me until she gets an answer that sounds most plausible. I want to groan as I think of the complication it will cause with her dating Elliot. I know whatever I say will inevitably probably get back to Christian through him. Just wonderful.

Breaking me out of my frustrated musings, Ethan returns to the table with the tray of food, sliding it in front of me. Staring at the food in front of me, I realize that I am _starving. _I haven't eaten anything of this size in a long time, and I don't hesitate to dig in, savoring every morsel.

We lapse into normal small talk as we both chew our food – no mention of Christian coming back up, much to my relief. Grabbing up Jack's to-go bag with his sub sandwich, we exit the restaurant. I still have ten minutes until I'm supposed to be back, so we take our time, walking at a slow, lazy pace.

"It's been good," I respond to Ethan's question about how my job with SIP has been going. "I'm learning a lot."  
"What about your boss? Get along with him?" he asks.

I can't help but make a face. "What?" Ethan asks, catching onto it.

I shake my head quickly. "Nothing. Yeah he's fine." I can't bring myself to try to explain my suspicions about Jack, about all the awkward situations and statements. I know it'll just come off as a paranoid overreaction.

All too soon, we're walking back through SIP's doors and back into the lobby. Ethan collects his bag from Claire who is still staring at him with unashamed awe. I want to roll my eyes at her.

He slings it over his shoulder just before reaching for me again, pulling me back into his arms. Again, I let him surround me with his embrace, taking comfort in it. Just like when he greeted me, the hug lasts longer than usual – which really is fine with me as I let my head rest against him, taking heart in such a caring touch from a friend.

The thought makes my eyes prick with the familiar threat of tears. I take a deep breath to calm myself, not wanting to completely freak Ethan out – more so than I probably already have in our hour together.

The breath brings with it the scent radiating from Ethan – he smells of the sea, mingled with a touch of body wash and fabric softener coming from his t-shirt. He smells amazing, making me inhale once more just to get another whiff right before he pulls away.

"I'll see you tonight, Steele," he says softly, gazing at me with those bright hazel eyes.

I nod, still not trusting my voice because of the random bought of emotion that I'm still working to get under control. Ethan's face sweeps into another grin as he swings the key ring which I gave him around his finger.

"Alright. Laters," he says, backing away before he turns on his heel and heads out. I stare after him for a moment, watching his retreating figure sway as he walks with a certain, leisurely gait which is characteristic of Ethan.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Claire speaks up from behind her desk. "Please, please, please, tell me he has a brother."

I have to work to turn my attention to her. "No – just a sister. Sorry."

She sighs, shrugging her shoulders. "The best ones are always taken."

"I don't think Ethan's taken though," I offer half-heartedly. She arches an eyebrow at me. "Really? You're not seeing him?"  
My eyebrows knit together. "No, he's just a friend."

"Could've fooled me," she says.

"What do you mean?"

"Ana, seriously? Have you _seen _the way that guy looks at you? I would give anything for a man to look at me like that – especially one that gorgeous," he says matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows stay together with my disconcertion, but I don't answer. Instead, I just turn and slowly make my way back in the office, trying to see what she means.


	4. Chapter 4

"Right there. I need you to switch that one out for me," Jack says from behind me as he points to what he's referring to on the computer screen. I make the changes that he's talking about, trying my hardest not to cringe.

He's standing behind my desk chair, leaning over my shoulder so close that I can literally feel his breath against my neck and smell the scent coming from him – cigarettes and too-strong cologne. Gag me.

I feel my lips curve down on the sides with a frown as I finish up the last thing for the day on Jack's instructions. Most of the people in the office have already starting shutting down and heading home, and I'm dying to join them.

I try to control my nerves as I watch another girl – Courtney, I think her name is – walk past as she swings her purse over her shoulder on her way out. That only leaves me and Jack and two other people that will also be leaving soon.

I'm anxious to be out before I'm left alone with my boss. I know I'm more than likely overreacting, but I can't help it. The uneasiness I feel around him is just too much for me to be comfortable with it being just the two of us.

"Okay. Done. Is that all?" I chirp, putting a bright tone in my voice as try not to let anything alert him that I'm uncomfortable. If he is doing this on purpose, I don't want him knowing that it's getting to me; and if he's not, I don't want to offend my perfectly nice employer who has just hired me.

Thankfully, Jack moves from around the back of my chair, giving me room to breathe, as he leans up against the edge of my desk. He gazes down at me with his dark, cobalt colored eyes and crosses his arms.

"There's a bar right down the street from here. I'm about to grab a beer – care to join me?"

_Oh shit._

"Uh," I stutter for a second, taken off guard. _This is SO inappropriate… _"No thanks. I have a friend waiting for me to get home, so we can go to dinner." I half-lie, praying he lets it drop and doesn't try to press his case. Ethan is waiting for me back at the apartment, though we have no plans to actually go to dinner.

"Maybe another time, then?" he asks, with a tilt of his head and a funny little smirk. Again, I fight the urge to cringe. "Yeah, maybe," I allow, biting back what I really want to say. _Not a chance in hell._

"Alright," he says, pushing away from the desk just as another person walks by as they leave. Now, it's just us and one other person. _Got to get out of here! _

"Have a goodnight, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow," Jack finished saying as he snatches up his brown messenger bag and turns to walk out.

"Night," I say, my voice weak with relief. I didn't realize just how nervous and pent up I was until the source is removed as he leaves the building, making me slump over in my chair.

Blowing out a huge breath, I shut everything down and grab my purse, gathering everything together. Pulling my bag's straps over my shoulder, I head for the door, pushing the glass open and stepping into the muggy evening, the sun going behind the think cloud cover. I turn to the left to walk to the bus stop – as I still don't have a car to get back and forth with yet.

I get about half a block away from SIP's entrance when suddenly, a thin lady with rumpled brown hair steps in front of me. I stop short, surprised. She regards me with flat, brown eyes for a half a second before she speaks.

"Anastasia Steele?" she asks, her voice wavering slightly. I glance down to see that she's dressed in baggy, dirty-looking clothes.

"Yes?" I answer uncertainly, my brows kitting together. _Who is she? And how does she know me?_

The mystery woman continues to stand before me, falling silent. Her wide, brown eyes drift over me, scrutinizing as she looks me up and down and back again.

"What do you have that I don't?" she asks slowly, cocking her head to the side, looking muddled.

"Excuse me?" I ask, now alarmed. "Who are you?"

"I'm nobody," she answers immediately, her high voice ringing with sadness. Before either of us can say anything else, she turns suddenly and starts retreating, walking briskly in the opposite direction.

I stand there, stunned and staring after her. _What the hell?_

Finally, I can no longer see her and I shake my head, trying to clear it and continue on my way to the bus stop.

Luckily, because of the small delay at the end of work and with the stranger on the street, I don't have to wait for the bus for more than two minutes.

All the way home, I ponder on the strange occurrence, trying and failing to come up with an explanation. Why on earth would she ask me what I have that she doesn't?

I know it probably should bother me that a stranger like that seems to know me, and apparently where I work, but for some reason it doesn't. Honestly, I can't help the sliver of pity I feel run through me as I remember her. She very obviously was troubled about something – desperate almost.

Eventually, I manage to write the incident off, and start thinking about nice it is knowing that I have someone waiting for me back at home. Knowing that I won't be alone tonight anymore.

The thought makes it feel as if a weight is lifted off of my shoulders – like a sense of dread that I didn't even know I had has disappeared.

A few minutes later, I get off the bus and walk the rest of the short distance back to my apartment.

I gave Ethan my set of keys so he could get in earlier today, so I buzz our apartment.

"It's me, Ethan. Open up," I shout into the speaker as he lets me in. I walk into the lobby, nodding to the doorman who gives me a kind smile as always and make my way to the apartment.

I get to the door, and see that Ethan left the door cracked for me, so I can just push it open.

I'm glancing down at the screen on my phone to check the time as I step through the threshold. I close the door just as I say, "So, what do you think you want for din-."

I look up and stop short, unable to finish what I was saying just a second ago as I take in the sight before me. I even feel my lips part with surprise as my jaw drops.

The lighting has been changed to a soft ambience – courtesy of the dimmer switches that Kate insisted be installed before we moved in. The rest of the light comes from about twenty candles, placed on just about every flat surface all over the apartment – the table, the counters, the side tables, the coffee table.

My eyes focus on the dinner table – two places are set with a bottle of wine sitting between them.

And the _smell…_

_What is that delicious smell?_

Just as I'm trying to figure it out, Ethan's blond head pops up from where he was bending behind the counter just a moment ago. My eyes dart to his and I watch as his face spreads into a huge grin.

"Perfect timing, Steele," he drawls happily as he wipes his hands on a small towel before throwing it over his shoulder.

"Ethan…," I trail off, glancing around the room again, still in awe. "This place looks amazing. And _what _is that smell?"

I inhale deeply, taking a couple of steps further toward the kitchen where it's emanating. Ethan flashes me another lopsided smile.

"I figured you could use a night off to just kick back. So I made the special Cavanaugh lasagna. Just a few more minutes and it'll be ready to come out."

I move around the counter, letting my purse drop into one of the bar stools. "You can cook?" I ask incredulously. He nods happily at me, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

I come to stop beside him and give his arm a playful push. "You've been holding out on me, Cavanaugh!"

Ethan chuckles lightly, turning his head to give me a wink. "Never know what I've got up my sleeve, Ana." He shrugs and pushes away from the counter to go grab the bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I figured you would enjoy coming home to a cooked meal for a change," he notes, as he fills one of the glasses.

He hands it to me and reaches for the other glass, filling it as well as he goes on. "There wasn't very many groceries here, so went ahead and stocked up. Hope you don't mind."

I blush into my wine, thankful for the soft lighting so he can't really see it. I totally forgot about buying groceries. I haven't even been to the store – not eating anything anyway. I want to slap my forehead with my palm for forgetting that Ethan would notice.

"You really didn't have to do this," I say, trying to turn the conversation away from any possible discussions about just how pathetic I've been lately.

Ethan shrugs easily, giving me a small smile. "I wanted to. It's just what you need after being alone for almost two weeks."

I have to tear my eyes away from his, feeling overwhelmed by the kind gentleness I see in them. I'm not used to someone else taking such consideration for me. Usually, I'm the one who is taking care of everybody else – it's how I was raised, what I'm accustomed to. Having the roles reversed is really throwing me off. Especially now – when such thoughtfulness means even more because of how fragile I feel. Like anything will shatter me at any moment.

Suddenly, I realize something – this is the first time I've come home and haven't felt the urge to immediately burst into tears. This is the first time when I've thought of something else other than Christian.

I glance back up at Ethan's happy eyes, feeling an overpowering wave of gratitude for just his presence, not to even mention his consideration.

He smiles softly, raising his wine glass out to me. "Here's to us," he toasts.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the sudden lump in my throat as I raise my glass as well.

"To us," I murmur and clink my glass against his.


	5. Chapter 5

"PLEASE tell me you got a video of it!" I laugh, clutching my sides. Ethan's in the middle relating various stories of his time in Barbados. Right now, he's describing Kate and Elliot's drunken night of karaoke in a bar on the beach there.

He tosses his head back in laughter. "Unfortunately, no. I didn't have my phone or camera on me."

I wipe my fingertips under my eyes, brushing away the hot tears that are escaping from laughing so hard.

"You should've seen them, Steele," he guffaws, shaking his head at the memory. "They had the _crowd! _Everybody was singing along after the third song."

I start laughing even harder, putting my face into my hands as I give into the rolling belly laughs that I haven't experienced in a _very _long. Even before I met Christian.

The thought causes me to sober a little, my laughter dying away finally as I calm down. I suck in, trying to catch my breath.

"It's a shame," I say, still giggling. "That would've made perfect blackmail material."

"Yeah. No shit," Ethan agrees, finishing another glass of wine. He reaches for the bottle, refilling both of our glasses. I reach for it, knowing that I should probably stop, but unable to do so. I haven't felt this good in so long – I just want to hang onto it.

I'm already more than tipsy, the wine taking over and leaving me feeling strangely buoyant. I like it. Combined with Ethan's company, I'm enjoying this evening way more than I thought was possible.

After an absolutely delicious dinner, I helped Ethan clean up the kitchen before we moved onto the couch, lounging around with the bottle of wine as we talked…and talked…and talked…

I haven't talked this much to one person in longer than I can even remember. Well, really, Ethan's been doing most of the talking while I just sit and listen and laugh at whatever he's saying.

I lean back against the couch cushion beside him, blowing out a steadying sigh as I take another sip of wine, against my better judgment.

I tilt my head to look over at him. "Thank you for this, Ethan," I tell him sincerely.

He turns to look at me with a small smile. "No problem. Anything for a friend."

I stare at him, a bought of emotion rising in me from out of nowhere as I ponder that. _Friend. _The word suddenly means the world to me – his being here suddenly invaluable. I abruptly can't even imagine how I got by without him in the first place.

"I needed this," I sigh happily, leaning my head back.

"I know," he acknowledges matter-of-factly, making me glance back at him with a curious expression.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ethan's face takes on a gentle look, and he turns himself until he's facing me, bringing his knee up onto the couch. He rests his elbow on the back of the sofa, and leans his head against his hand.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Ana – but you look like hell," he states, not unkindly.

In my muddled state, clouded by alcohol, I instinctively glance down at myself, examining. I'm still in my work clothes – an outfit I borrowed from Kate's closet; a pair of simple black slacks and a tucked in white blouse.

Ethan picks up on my gaze. "I don't mean physically," he interjects quickly, making me look back up at him. "It goes a lot deeper than that."

The air leaves my lungs with a _whoosh _as a painful stab pokes at my heart as I realize what he means.

I stare into my wine glass, swishing its contents around and around. "It's not easy," I reiterate my words to him while we were at lunch. "But I'm okay."

I feel Ethan's hand on my shoulder. I look back at him and he slides closer to me.

"So what happened?" he asks gently. When I don't answer immediately, he starts backpedaling. "You don't have to answer. It's none of my business."

Staring up into his sincere, concerned hazel eyes, twinkling in the muted light of the room, I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to tell him everything. I swallow, trying to contain the words bubbling up to my lips.

As bad as I may want to, I know I can never tell him or anybody what exactly happened with Christian and me. For many reasons – not even factoring in the NDA I signed.

I clear my throat, searching for a suitable answer. Finally, "He turned out to be kind of a _shady _character." I have to glance away, biting down hard on my lip to suppress the drunken laughter I feel fighting to get out at my sneaky little joke.

See? That's completely the truth – just the vague, safe version of it.

Ethan nods understandingly, squeezing my shoulder where his hand still rests. "I'm sorry. I know it looks horrible now, but it always gets better. Promise."

His mouth curves up on one side into an uneven, lopsided grin that can do nothing except make the person beholding it feel reassured – I am so exception. I smile back hesitantly. "I know," I sigh. "We were just too different – wanted different things. It's for the best."

I make a feeble attempt to smile and raise my glass to my lips again, trying to convince myself that what I'm saying is true.

Ethan slides the rest of the way until we're side by side. He moves his hand from my shoulder to put his whole arm around me in a comforting gesture. I can't help but lean into the embrace, pressing into his side and relishing the warmth radiating from him.

"You know I'm here if you ever want to talk about it," he mutters quietly, chaffing his hand up and down my arm, giving a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you, Ethan," I whisper. Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, I let my head roll to the side, resting it against Ethan's shoulder. I feel him lean his head against my hair just as I let my eyes slide closed, enjoying the feeling of someone holding me like this – of having a friend to care for me this much.

The last thing I'm aware of is the feel of the glass being pulled out of my sleepy grasp. I'm almost certain that I've already slipped into dreams when I feel something press against my hair and a faraway-sounding voice whisper, "Your welcome, Ana."


	6. Chapter 6

I blink awake, disoriented by the diffused morning light peaking through the curtains. I run my tongue over my lips, trying to give my parched-feeling mouth some relief.

I roll over, rubbing my eyes and yawning as the last memories from last night flood back into my recollection and I realize why I feel so strange in my current surroundings. _I'm in my bed…_

I glance around, trying to piece it together when I push back the covers to reveal that I'm still wearing my work clothes from yesterday. Realization dawns on. _Ethan must have carried me to bed last night after I passed out. _

But before I can ponder too long on that thought, I glance to the side at my alarm clock. I almost have a heart attack when I see the time.

_SHIT! I'M GOING TO BE LATE!_

Immediately, I fly out of bed like a ninja, my heart suddenly pumping with adrenaline. I rush to the bathroom, only taking time to rinse my face, brush my teeth, and smooth my hair over. One minute later, I'm darting into the closet, knowing I could hardly show up in the same clothes. I throw on the first suitable thing my fingers come across.

I swing open the bedroom door, stumbling out as I try to walk and slip on my heels at the same time.

I'm met with the strong smell of coffee as I dart around the corner. I spot Ethan standing in the kitchen, pouring some into a mug.

His eyes flash up to meet mine when he catches sight of me. "Hey," he greets me with a smile. "Want some?" He raises the coffee pot in his hand.

I shake my head. "Thanks but I don't drink coffee," I huff, hurrying over to the counter.

"Everything alright?" he asks, taking in my harried state. I shudder to know what I look like to him.

"I'm late," I mutter crabbily.

"Well, shit. I'm sorry – I had no idea what time to wake you."

"It's okay," I tell him. "It's not your fault." I snatch up my purse and I go over to the cabinet, hunting down one of the energy bars I've been living off of.

"Hey, I have to go pick up Beauty today. How about I stop by and take you to lunch again while I'm at it?" he asks.

By "Beauty" he means his Ducati that a friend of his has kept for him while he was away.

"Sure," I say hurriedly, not stopping to think about how much this actually pleases me. "That sounds great."

I turn to leave, but just as I have my hand on the door handle, he stops me. "Steele." I turn back around and he tossed something at me. I catch it and realize that it's a bottle of Advil.

"You're probably going to need that," he says with a knowing smile. Now that he's mentioned it, I just now realize that my head is pounding with every beat of my heart. I've been so flustered that I hadn't even really noticed.

_Damn wine…of all days for me to have a hangover…_

I mutter my appreciation and fly out the door.

Twenty minutes later, I arrive at work, walking through the door exactly ten minutes late. _Well, it could be worse. _

I meekly arrive at my desk, head down, trying to go unnoticed. But I'm never that lucky. Immediately, I hear Jack's voice snapping at me from his office.

"Ana! Where the hell have you been?" he bites out.

"Sorry," I say sincerely. "Overslept."

He _humphs _and levels me a severe look. "Well, get to work, and don't let it happen again."

I nod, and turn to my desk, tackling the first things I know that need to be done with more swiftness than usual.

It doesn't take long before my head starts pounding like a mosh pit, reminding me of the last minute gift Ethan gave me. I reach into my purse and empty out a couple Advil into my palm and swallow them, rubbing my temples for a minute before turning back to my work again.

"Ana!" Jack barks from his desk. "Bring me that revised copy that I asked for."

I hop up from my chair, grabbing what he's referring to and stride into his office and hand it to him. I stay put as he glances it over. He abruptly shoves it back to me. "Still has mistakes – redo it."

I stay silent as I turn on my heel and head for the door, turning red. Before I can leave, he calls, "And get me another coffee before you come back."

Irritation flares inside me. I know I was late but seriously? I still don't deserve to be talked to like shit.

I return to my desk and find only two small mistakes but fix them and reprint it. Running to the small kitchen area, I pour up another cup of coffee in his thermos and add the exact amount of cream and sugar as he likes. Hurrying, I grab the coffee and new copy and head back into his office.

"Here," I say quietly. "It's fixed." He looks it over again, scrutinizing it silently. Finally he nods. "Better."

I'm turning back when he takes a sip of the coffee and makes a face. "Next time, don't put so much damn cream in it."

I have to bite my lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I made his damn coffee the same way I've been making it for almost two weeks. Every other time, he's been perfectly happy with it.

_What the hell?_

I huff a sigh and return to work, settling in for a long day.

About an hour later, I'm proofreading my next assignment when the office phone rings. It's Claire in reception.

"Ana, there's a gentleman out here asking to see you."

My eyebrows come together. Who is asking for me? Ethan isn't supposed to be here until lunch. Besides, if it were Ethan, Claire would be going on with the "blond god" nonsense.

"What does he want?" I ask, fishing for more information. Claire pauses and I hear some murmuring as she speaks away from the phone.

"He says he has something to give you," she says.

"Okay," I say, still not having a clue who it is. "I'll be right there."

Praying that Jack doesn't notice that I'm gone, I stand and hurry toward reception. As soon as I walk in, I stop in my tracks, my eyes popping wide and every ounce of air leaving my lungs.

It's Taylor. Standing there in his usual suit, wearing his impassive expression. Even when his eyes find mine, his face doesn't change at all. I continue to stand there for several long moments, blinking and expecting him to disappear any second – just a figment of my imagination.

When he doesn't, curiosity finally overrides shock, and I force my feet to resume moving. I walk towards him, but stop several feet away, unable to get any closer as I eye him cautiously.

_What the hell could he possibly be doing here?_

Taylor takes two long strides, closing the distance between us himself. "Miss Steele," he greets with a professional nod.

"Taylor," I say, unable to make my voice any louder than a whisper. I want to wince at how strangled I sound. I don't want to leave Taylor with the impression that I'm completely pathetic. He gazes at me for a long second, and when he doesn't continue on immediately, I clear my throat and speak up, crossing my arms defensively.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, sounding almost demanding – which pleases me.

Taylor blinks, seeming to remember what he's doing. I watch as he reaches into his jacket.

"Mr. Grey wanted me to give you this," he says just as he produces an oblong box with a small plain white envelope tied to it with a bow. I reach up with tremulous fingers as I take it from him. I hesitate only a second before tugging on the ribbon of the bow to release the note.

Shifting the box into my other hand, I gingerly open it and slide the note out. Suddenly, my heart is pounding so hard that I'm certain even Claire can hear it from across the room.

My eyes fall upon the short note, reading through the words quickly.

Anastasia,

To match your beautiful eyes…

Know that I'm thinking of you always.

Christian

My breath catches, and a huge lump forms in my throat almost painfully as my eyes prick with unshed tears.

Thinking of me always? Is he serious or is that just some poetic bullshit that his assistant just came up with on the fly on his orders.

To be realistic, I decide on the latter as I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump as I move the card between my fingers and grasp the red leather box, pulling it open.

Inside the plush white interior, rests a _gorgeous _silver necklace, adorned with dainty sapphires that are accented with sparkling diamonds.

My mouth drops momentarily, taken aback.

_Whoa. _

I stare in awe at the beautiful piece of jewelry. Blue sapphires…to match my blue eyes?

I'm snapped back to reality as I consider what the hell this could possibly be for. The roses and the congratulations on my job was one thing – that was acceptable, explainable to an extent.

But this?

This is…inexcusable. _We broke up for God's sake! Why the hell is he sending me over-the-top expensive gifts with notes like that?!_

Forget inexcusable – it's downright inappropriate! He _knows _how I hate him spending money on me – and that was while we were together! Why the fuck would he think that's changed now that we're not?

A flare of anger rises in me, fast and strong as I consider the implication. _Is he trying to fucking buy me back?! _

I'm seeing red as I continue to stare down at the suddenly offensive object. I attempt taking a deep breath to calm myself down. It doesn't really work but I do manage to somehow control my expression as I look back up at Taylor who regards me coolly.

I snap the case shut with a loud _thud _the reverberates throughout the room. I glace at Claire to make sure she can't hear me before I offer it back to Taylor as I plaster a fake, sickly-sweet smile on my face.

"Tell Mr. Grey that I'm not into collars. Even pretty ones," I say in a tone of voice that matches my expression.

Taylor reaches up to take the box back, and I _swear _that I see the edges of his lips twitch upward. But it's so fast that I'm not sure.

"Yes, ma'am," he sighs, sounding rather weary, making me think that maybe my refusal of the gift might make things harder for him somehow.

Knowing that I have to get back to work, I take a step backward, nodding to the executor of Christian Grey's dirty work.

"Have a good day, Taylor," I say with sincerity before turning and retreating as fast as I can back to my desk.

I plop down in my chair, leaning my elbows against the desk and putting my face in my hands. Now that the worst of the anger is starting to subside, I find myself fighting tears again.

Just when I thought I was getting better, he decides to pull something like this. What the hell is he thinking?

Is he _trying _to torture me?

And what the hell is he doing sending Taylor?!

The thought makes the anger return flare again. If he's really "thinking about me always", then why the fuck can't he tell me that to my face?! Instead, he's sending his security to do it for him?!

"Son of a bitch," I mutter angrily into my palms.

This is too much to deal with right now. I don't need this.

As if to prove this, Jack yells from his office again. "Ana! Get Emerson on the phone. Now!"

I huff a huge sigh, trying to focus on my work and forget about the incident for now, pushing it into the back of my mind until later.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Alright guys! I have to say - Thank you so much for all the amazing reviews! i am so happy to see such a response!**

**But before i continue, i wanna respond to one recurring worry that many of u have concerning Ethan...And please dont worry - i am NOT gunna leave Ethan heartbroken! i have just about everything planned out, including the ending, and dont worry - he'll be fine!**

**Anyways...here we go! Enjoy reading!**

* * *

"Going to lunch, Jack. What would you like?" I ask on my way out of SIP.

"Nothing. Don't worry about getting anything for me today," he mutter grumpily, still in a shitty mood.

"Okay," I answer.

"I want you back here ten minutes early –make up for the missed time this morning," he says, glaring up at me, making me shrink back.

I nod silently and duck out of his office before he can say anything else. I rub my temple with my fingertips, wondering what the hell his problem could be. Until yesterday, he was all "sweetheart" and inviting me to get drinks with him, then today…

Then it hits me – maybe that's it. Maybe he's mad that I turned him down last night, and he's taking it out on me now…

_What the hell is wrong with men?_

I'm shaking my head in exasperation when I walk into reception. Ethan sent me a text a little bit ago saying that he was on his way. Sure enough, when I walk through the threshold, he immediately springs up from his place on the couch, his face sweeping into a wide grin.

"Hey," he says as I approach, adjusting the worn, leather messenger bag that he has slung over his shoulder.

"Hey," I mimic, sounding weary and worn down even to my own ears. Apparently, he picks up on it, because he looks at me curiously and cocks his head to the side.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

I run my hand down my face dramatically. "It's already been a long day."

He nods understandingly. "Well, c'mon. You can tell me all about it while we go eat." He slides his arm around my shoulder, leading me out of the doors.

I sigh, releasing all my frustration, already feeling better now that Ethan's here. As we walk, with his arm still around my shoulder, I glance up at him out of the corner of my eye. I can't help but wonder at the immediate difference in my mood – just because he's around.

Just being near him makes me feel as if everything's going to be okay – even when just moments before it seemed impossible.

Whatever the reason, I'm content to just enjoy the results.

So, letting my arm circle around his waist in return, I settle into his side as we walk. "So where are we going, anyway?" I ask him, just now realizing that I have no idea where we're headed.

"There's a place not far from here that a friend of mine highly recommended. I figured we could try it, if you don't mind."

"Sounds good to me," I answer contentedly.

"So, how's your day been? Hangover been bugging you?" he makes easy conversation.

I snort. "I wish that was my only problem."

Ethan's head turns and he peers down at me. "What's up?"

"Well, first of all," I sigh. "My boss has been acting like some roid-head with a bad temper problem all morning."

Ethan chuckles, his side vibrating against me with the soft, musical sound. "Roid-head?" he snickers.

"Ya know," I say. "Steroids. Those hulking body builders with bulging veins and anger issues?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know what it is. Just funny hearing it like that," he says, glancing back at me again with amusement written all over his face.

I can't help but smile in return, his mood infectious.

"And second of all?" he asks when I fall silent, forgetting that there was more.

I sigh again. "Second of all," I repeat slowly. "I heard from Christian today."

Ethan stops walking, taking me by surprise.

He take a step to the side so he's facing me, but keeps his arm around me – a fact which I'm grateful for because I suddenly feel like I need the support.

"Are you okay?" he asks, searching my face for any signs that I'm upset.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," I say honestly. By now, I've had enough time to cool off somewhat. "I didn't exactly hear from him personally. That was the wrong thing to say I guess."

His eyebrows crease. "What do you mean?"

I breathe in deeply. "He sent his head of security to give me a gift."

Ethan nods and resumes slowly walking again. "What kind of gift?" he asks easily.

"A necklace – a very _expensive _and uncalled for necklace," I respond unhappily.

"Just out of the blue?"

"Yep. It had a card with it – said some crap about the necklace matching my eyes and knowing that he's thinking about me."

"That's all?" Ethan notes, shocked.

"Mmm hmmm," I hum, nodding.

"No "I miss you" or "I'm sorry"; or even "No hard feelings"?" he inquires, sounding surprised.

"Nope. Nothing. That's all it said,"

"What did you do? Did you call him?" he asks.

"Uh, no," I snort. "I gave it back to him, and told him I couldn't accept it. Christian knows how I feel about over-the-top gifts in the first place, so I have no idea why he would even bother. Not to mention that we're not even together, so he has no reason to be sending me things."

"That's strange," Ethan agrees.

"That's Christian," I correct with a sigh. We continue walking, falling silent for the rest of the way, instead just enjoying each other's company as we walk along.

"It's right up here," Ethan says, gesturing just ahead of us once we've gotten closer. I glance around, noticing some of the various stores and restaurants around. As we walk, we pass right by a very imposing-looking salon, with fancy exterior. Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice the big title hanging over the front.

Esclava Salon.

I make note to look into this area for a good salon. I desperately need a haircut, my brunette locks getting too long and unmanageable. Though, I certainly won't be going to this one – entirely too pompous for my taste, or my bank account for that matter.

Ethan directs me to a sleek, modern restaurant just down the walk, turning into it.

We settle into our table, both of us looking over the menu as we make small talk. Ethan tells me all about the psych program that he's been accepted into, going into detail about his specific course studies and what they entail. He tries to explain most of it so that I can understand it. So I listen, more than happy to just sit and enjoy the sound of him talking, smiling and nodding as I fake comprehension during the parts that I fly over my head completely.

Just like that, we spend the entire time eating out meal, chatting and chewing. And all too soon, my break comes to a close, forcing us to wrap it up.

Again, Ethan completely ignores my protests and pays for everything himself, just shaking his head with a small smile as he assures me that he _insists._ I just lean back and roll my eyes at him, which just makes him grin wider.

As we go to leave, Ethan holds the door open for me as I walk through, following me out back onto the street. As start walking back, I glance up at Ethan. "Thanks. I really enjoyed that."

He smiles. "Yeah. The food was delicious," he says.

_I enjoyed more than just the food _I want to say, but stop myself, knowing how it would come across – how it implies more than what I mean. There's no real way I can explain to Ethan how much I appreciate his company without it sounding the wrong way.

As I'm considering how to show Ethan my gratitude for his being here for me, I suddenly feel his hand meet mine, Ethan sliding his fingers through mine.

I glance down, surprised, at first our hands, then up at Ethan. He glances sideways down at me, and I see the side of his mouth pull up infinitesimally before he glances away again.

My shock at the affectionate touch melts away to enjoyment. I know it's a little much – a little presumptuous – but who cares? Ethan and I know the nature of our relationship – at least I'm pretty sure we _both _know – so what can it hurt?

Smiling to myself, I let my fingers wrap around his just a little tighter, enjoying the feeling.

But when I look back up, all thoughts of holding hands is completely obliterated as I pull up short, forcing Ethan to stop as well.

He looks back at me with a confused look. "Ana? What is it?" he asks, but I don't hear him.

I'm too busy staring at the sight before me.

Just up the street, right in front of the huge salon that I noticed on our way here, is Christian.

My heart gives a painful squeeze as I lay eyes on him for the first time in nearly two weeks. My breath leaves me as if I've just been punched in the gut.

From my standpoint, he looks as beautiful as the last time I saw him. He's wearing those damn gray pants that hang from his hips in that mouth-watering way and a white linen shirt.

He's unaware of my presence just as I was unaware of his all of two seconds ago. It takes me another second to notice that he's talking to a tall blond woman who's standing in front of him.

I stare, unable to tear my eyes away, while everything inside of me screams for me to turn and run.

I watch as Christian gestures around himself, talking animatedly. The blond nods her head sagely and seems to try to reassure him.

Then, she does something which stuns me and leaves me on the verge of tears.

She reaches out and _touches _him. With both of her hands resting firmly on each of his biceps. I look on as Christian seems unfazed, gazing down at her and nodding his head in understanding.

Grief grips my heart and my vision suddenly blurs with tears momentarily.

She can touch him?! Something he made very clear I was never allowed to do?!

Why the hell does she get to lay her hands on him while he was so adamant that I didn't? What makes this blond so special?

Who the hell is she?

My eyes flicker back to her, taking in her full form now as I inspect her completely black-clad form.

Ethan grips me tighter and says, "Come on, Ana. You don't need to see this." Obviously, he's caught on by now to what has me stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

But I barely register that he's spoken.

Instead, I'm still staring at the mystery blond woman. Then, I realize something that I didn't at first – her age. She seems to be in her early forties, though she looks stunning for someone anywhere near that age.

And just like that, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

_Mrs. Robinson. _

My mouth drops open and my stomach turns sickeningly, but before I can move – before I can even think about what I should do next, a pair of shocked gray eyes suddenly flicker to me, meeting my gaze.


	8. Chapter 8

_Shit. Shit. Shit! This is bad- this is very, very bad! _Even in my muddled, disoriented state, I know that is true.

Here I am, standing not ten yards away from Christian – who is now gazing at me, looking just as stunned as I feel.

But when our eyes meet, my jumbled thoughts finally come back together, and my brain cells start firing off again.

I drop my gaze immediately, but not fast enough that I don't notice fucking Mrs. Robinson looking over at me now too.

I turn in the opposite direction, not knowing what the hell I'm doing or how to escape this horrible situation. I look both ways frantically.

Luckily, Ethan still has his shit together – unlike me at the moment. He sees my panic and immediately takes over, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me along all of a sudden.

"Come on," I hear him mutter to me as he turns us both to the crosswalk that is conveniently placed right behind us.

Even more lucky, we already have the walk signal so we don't have to pause before darting across the street.

By the time we've reached the other side of the street, I've managed to gather my wits, not needing Ethan to drag me along with him – now walking just fine on my own at least.

I studiously stare in front of me, not daring to glance to my right where Christian was just standing with Mrs. Robinson.

My stomach turns again, making me bite down on my lip to keep from gagging. _He's seeing Mrs. Robinson! _So much for thinking about me…

I knew that he was friends with her, but actually seeing her – seeing them together – seeing her _touch _him…it's all sickening to me, making my food threaten to make a reappearance.

I keep my teeth sunk into my lip, holding in a sob which threatens to tear me apart. Then I realize something even worse – he's probably talking to her about getting a new sub. _Oh God, I can't take this. _

Ethan senses my distress because his arm tightens around me as he continues to hurry me along.

Suddenly, all my horrible reveries are pierced by a painfully familiar voice coming from behind me.

"Ana!" he calls. _Shit. He's following us!_

I fight the urge to turn and look over my shoulder to see where he is.

Thankfully, the lunch hour is in full swing, the street swarming with other pedestrians like ourselves – which work both to slow Christian down and hide us from view as we weave in and out of the crowd.

Ethan lengthens his stride just a smidge more, making me walk as fast as I can – any faster and I'll be jogging.

"Ana!" I hear my name again.

"Shit," I hiss under my breath, causing Ethan to look down at me with a sympathetic look before his eyes glance back up, seeming to scan our surroundings.

Suddenly, determination crosses his face and he abruptly darts for the nearest entrance – a small coffee shop, I think – using the surrounding people as cover to hopefully hide our location.

He pushes the door open and pulls me through quickly. Scanning the room, he spots the first employee and makes a bee-line for her.

"Excuse me," he says, getting the red-headed girl's attention. "We're being followed – we need to use your back exit."

The girl's eyes widen at his words. Under any other circumstances, it might actually be funny. But not today. Not at all.

She immediately directs us to where the restaurant's only other exit is, and Ethan's suddenly hauling me along again.

Before I know how to respond, we're already walking through the other exit, letting the door bang shut behind us. I expect Ethan to just keep walking, but he doesn't. Instead he stops, turning until he's facing me.

He puts both hands on my shoulders and gazes down at me. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod mutely, unable to find my voice for a moment. When I do, I manage to huff out, "I'm fine. Just surprised is all."

He nods. "Sorry about all of that – but I sorta guessed that you didn't want to see him."

"No, no. it's okay. Thank you – I didn't."

"Alright," Ethan says, reaching for me again. "Let's get you back to work, Steele."

We have to improvise somewhat – weaving in and out of some businesses, and having to cross the street again, but eventually, we make it back to SIP. I've completely missed Jack's "ten minute early" deadline, but I'll deal with that when I have to. Ethan walks me inside, stopping at reception. Just as we're saying goodbye, he slips off the bag that's been around his should this whole time and hands it to me.

"Here," he says.

My eyebrows crease as I hesitantly reach up to take it. "What's this?"

He grins at me – the first smile he's shown since the foot-chase on the street. "I'm gunna pick you up tonight when you get off. And you're going to need this."

Still confused, I take the bag but don't ask anything else.

Ethan says his goodbyes and I rush back to my desk, stashing the bag out of sight, knowing that I don't have time to take a peak at what's inside.

Just on time, Jack walks out of his office, spotting me immediately. "Where were you just a minute ago?" he demands.

I stare up innocently at him. "Bathroom," I lie.

He buys it though with a terse nod. "I need you to book a flight to New York for this Monday. Reserve for two, and start packing Sunday night."

I glance back up at him, confused. "Excuse me?"

For the first time all day, his lips pull up in a smile – but not a genuine one. It looks almost…threatening. Enough to send a shiver up my spine. "You're coming with me."

I feel my eyes widen with surprise. "You're taking me to New York with you?"

He nods, the sour look returning to his face after a moment. "Yes, so it needs to be booked now. Snap to it."

Without another word, he turns and strides away back toward his office, leaving me still shocked.

_Whoa. New York!_

I turn to the computer, working through the news. On one hand, I'm excited as hell to be going to New York. I've never been before, not to mention what this means for my job. But that's what also makes me suspicious. This, coupled with Jack's overt advances, I can't help but feel skeptical regarding his reasons for it. It's only my second week here, for crying out loud! Way too soon for my boss to think I'm invaluable enough to want to bring me along…

I sigh, trying to shake the unease I feel creeping up on me. Despite my misgivings, I fire up the browser and book the flight for Monday.


	9. Chapter 9

"Ana," Jack says, sticking his head out of his office. "You can go ahead and go. There's nothing else to do. Good work today."

I look up from my task of clearing everything away on my desk and glance at my boss in surprise. I don't have time to answer before he ducks back inside.

_Whoa. Good work today? _Then what the hell was all that bear-just-out-of-hibernation shit that's been going on all day? His mood hasn't let up all day. Well, until now, I guess.

I shake my head, feeling whip-lashed from the sudden difference and continue packing up. It is a little early – I still have about ten minutes until I usually leave. So I finish up and push away from the desk.

The action causes the brown leather bag underneath my feet suddenly catch my eye. _Oh! I almost forgot! _Jack's mood and barked commands have had me so busy and flustered for the past few hours that Ethan's mystery present slipped my mind altogether. So, with some time to spare, I snatch the supple leather strap up and tug the bag into my lap.

Feeling suddenly excited for some reason, I throw back the flap of the bag and use my hands to open it up, peeking inside.

It takes me a minute to deduce what's inside and I stick my hand inside to investigate.

The first thing I make contact with is denim. Pulling it out, a pair of my black skinny jeans unfold in my lap. Feeling a little confused, I set them up on my desk and reach back inside.

This time, my fingers make contact with something stiff and cold – new leather. Pulling it out, I'm met with a black leather jacket – and since I don't own one, I'm going to assume that he hocked this from Kate's closet, though I've never seen her wear it.

A huge grin lights my face as I realize what all this is for. I peak inside, and my suspicions are confirmed when I see my favorite pair of Chuck Taylors and a pair of black socks from my drawer at home.

Ethan's coming to pick me up on the Ducati – and there's obviously no way I can just hop on the back of that thing wearing this black pencil skirt and heels.

_Good looking out, Ethan. _

Excitement blooms inside me as I stuff the jeans and jacket back inside the bag and hurry to the bathroom to change.

Shutting myself inside the biggest stall, I hang the bag on the silver hook and start with the heels, exchanging them for the socks.

It takes less than a minute and I have my skirt off and the skinny jeans pulled on. Unbuttoning my blouse, I pull it off as well so that I'm left in the white spaghetti strap tank top I wore underneath it.

I lace up the Converse and slide my arms into the black leather jacket, stuffing my work outfit into the bag before grabbing it and leaving the stall.

I stop on my way out to glance in the mirror. A small smile lights my face at what I see. _I look…well, I look kind of badass. _Satisfied, I exit the bathroom and make my way back to my desk.

As soon as I get back, my cell starts ringing from its place on my desk. Snatching it up, I see that it's Ethan and answer.

"Just stopped to gas up, I'll be there in five," he says happily, making me smile against the phone.

"Kay. I'll be waiting for you right outside," I tell him, already gathering the rest of my things.

"Better pull your hair up nice and tight, Steele 'cause it's gunna be quite a ride we're taking," he says with a palpable thrill in his voice.

"I thought we were just going home."

"Ana, seriously? This is the first time I've had a chance to ride this thing is forever! Besides, I have a surprise for you…"

"Surprise? What are you talking about?" I demand with a smile.

"Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprised now would it? Now, get ready to go – I'll be there in a few."

"Alright. I'll be waiting."

"Laters, Steele."

"Laters," I murmur into the phone as he hangs up, realizing that this is the first time I've said it since being with Christian. The thought is strangely comforting – as if it somehow signifies that I'm making progress.

As I toss my phone into the bag as well, I want hug myself with anticipation. I haven't been this eager for something since…well, since Christian took me gliding in Georgia. The sudden thought shatters through my excitement, leaving me breathless and lost in a myriad of memories that I've been doing everything to avoid lately.

It's hard enough going on with life even when I only focus on the negative memories – the threats of punishment, the intimidation, the dark secrets which he refused to open up about, the endless rules…

Even in our worst moments, I still loved Christian. Even when remembering our worst moments, I still miss him like hell. And thinking about the good times only makes it that much worse – the moments when it was easy to love him; the moments when I truly saw a side of Christian Grey that no one else did.

The thought stabs at my still-aching heart like a knife. I clutch the side of the desk to help support me as I take a few deep breaths – in through my nose and out through my mouth. After a minute, I manage to get my mind and subsequent emotions under control, regaining a better frame of mind.

Remembering what Ethan said about my hair, I hunt down a hair tie among my things and slide it onto my wrist.

I start to just pull it back into a simple ponytail, but then think better of it – in a ponytail, it will still get windblown, making unbearable tangles to deal with later.

So, I gather it all to the side and separate it into three sections, quickly weaving it into a braid over my left shoulder. Wrapping the elastic around the end, I finish securing my hair and grab the messenger bag.

With one last sweep of my desk, I grab the bag and make my way to leave. Pushing the door open, I step into the refreshing air of Seattle's early evening.

Coming to a stop on the sidewalk, I readjust the bag so that it's draped securely across my body and zip up the jacket, tucking my fingers into my back pockets as I wait for Ethan.

"Ana?"

My heart drops at the sound of my name being uttered from my right – in an all-too familiar voice.

_Oh. My. God. _

I'm about to go into an instant panic attack as I whip my head around in that direction. Dread grips my heart and my breath completely abandons me for the second time today as my eyes lock with Christian's.

Except this time, there's nowhere for me to run – nowhere to escape this situation; one that is already cracking all the fine lines in my heart that I've spent days and days trying to patch up.

Also, unlike earlier today, he no longer looks shocked to see me – instead, his beautiful face is contorted in an irritated scowl.

This is an expression that I recognize well – he's angry.

_Oh fuck. _


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So glad u guys are enjoying my story! Been writing as fast as I can. So here's the next two chapters. Hope u like what happens!**

* * *

Christian continues to glare at me not two yards away, as I keep gawking, mouth agape. He's still dressed as he was earlier today – in those amazing gray pants and white shirt. Both of his hands are tucked into his pockets, and his hair is in its usual disarray.

In other words – he looks as heart-breakingly beautiful as ever. And that's exactly what my heart's doing – breaking.

The little episode inside the office just a minute ago is nothing compared to this. Seeing him up close and personal just breaks open the flood-gates of things that I've tried desperately to keep a cap on.

Amidst my gaping, Christian's heated eyes drop lower until I can practically feel them burning into me as he takes me in. When his eyes finally meet mine again, he moves closer, taking a few steps toward me.

The action actually manages to pierce through my stupor just as Christian stops in front of me. His eyes flash angrily over me again.

"When's the last time you ate?" he snaps, his face meaning business.

The question takes me by surprise. _He hasn't spoken to me in nearly two weeks, and the first thing he says to me is about my eating habits? What the hell?_

Then, I grasp what made him ask – this coupled with Ethan's comment when he saw me, makes me realize that my non-existent appetite must have resulted in more weight loss than I thought.

The notion has me glancing down instinctively at myself, though I can't really tell a difference among my muddled and over-loaded brain.

Then, I think about _why_ he would be asking – I know he's obsessive about food and all, but seriously? Why the hell does he care? We're not together anymore – my meals are no longer of his interest.

Anger spikes from within me suddenly.

"Well, hello, Christian," I say sarcastically. "It's nice to see you too."

"Stop it with your smart mouth, Anastasia," he retorts, growing angrier. "Answer me."

I stare at him in disbelief, feeling the indignation on my face. _The nerve of this man…_

He's my ex-boyfriend for God's sake, and he is _still _ordering me around like a child. _Well, not any more. _

I take a step closer to him, my hands turning into fists – one hanging at my side and the other clutched around the bag's strap.

"It's none of your damn business, Grey," I spit, injecting as much venom into my voice as possible.

He blinks, taken aback by my boldness. _Yeah, not a whimpering little girl you can push around anymore…_

But a half a second later, his surprise changes, returning full force to barely-contained outrage. He takes a step closer so that now we're not three feet apart. The proximity only fuels the tension in the air.

"Everything you do is my business," he counters menacingly. His eyes narrow darkly, as if daring me to refute this statement.

Well, he's not the only one feeling rather audacious I suppose – because that's one dare I accept without hesitation.

"Like. Hell," I utter slowly, stressing the words through gritted teeth. A part of me – one on the very recesses of my mind – acknowledges this situation with gratitude. It's so much easier meeting this with anger than with sorrow and grief.

I see Christian's jaw clench and he reaches up to run a hand roughly through his hair as he sucks in a deep breath.

I keep my face impassive as I wait for his next possessive remark that I can gladly thwart – all the while, desperately wishing Ethan would just fucking get here already.

But Christian changes tactics, abandoning his dominating assault. "Why did you run earlier?" he demands, but in a much calmer voice though I can still see the anger in his eyes.

I give him a dramatic look of incredulity– indicating that I think he's being extremely slow.

"Well, gee," I say derisively. "Maybe – just maybe – I wanted to _avoid _being bombarded like this." I gesture around widely with my hand, making my point come across.

My anger is the only thing that keeps me from even thinking the real reason I let Ethan drag me away from him earlier – then, it was just too damn painful; too torturous to come face to face with the man that went from being the center of my world to the one who destroyed it. But now, looking up at his hostile, threatening face, it's just too damn irritating.

Christian's eyes drop from mine momentarily, glancing down toward his feet as he takes another deep breath. When he looks back up, his eyes are no longer angry. They're just cold and distant – guarded. I can almost see the walls as he puts them up.

Suddenly, the doors leading into SIP swing open, making me glance at the movement. Surprise registers in me when I see that it's Jack. But he stops short, his eyes flickering first to Christian with a suspicious look; then to me – where they sweep up and down, appearing shocked at my change of clothes. I try to ignore the flash of something else I see in them as they roam over me longer than necessary…

Finally, he blinks, his eyes flickering up to mine.

"Ana, I'm glad I caught you," he says. "What time is our flight Monday?"

"9:30," I answer automatically. He nods, leaning back inside the door which he's holding open. His eyes move between me and Christian a couple of more times before he steps back in, letting the door shut behind him.

I look back at Christian to see him still staring after Jack.

When he looks back at me, he demands, "Who is that?"

"My boss," I answer, annoyed.

"What flight is he talking about?"

I sigh with frustration. "Again – that's hardly your business."

Christian is unfazed by my remark. "You know I'll find out anyway – so you might as well tell me."

I cross my arms petulantly. "We're going to New York Monday for work."

Christian's face flashes – with what? Anger? Worry? Disbelief? I'm not sure, because as soon as it appears, it's gone.

"Don't count on it," he mutters darkly.

My eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me? And who are you to say where I can and cannot go?"

He doesn't answer me – just merely stares at me for a long moment, finally shaking his head.

"This isn't how I wanted to do this," he huffs out sharply, sounding highly annoyed, though I'm not sure if it's directed at himself or me. Past experience points to me.

"Do what?" I snap, impatient for this to just be over. My nerves can't take much more of this. Plus, my anger is starting to wane, and that is dangerous – for it's the only thing keeping me protected, defending me from other horrible emotions that will only send me drowning once again.

I grind my teeth together, wrapping what's left of my rage around me like a shield, using it to anchor me, keep me thinking clearly and rationally.

"Talk to you," Christian answers brusquely.

"Talk to me?" I ask flatly, arching an eyebrow. "Ya know – you could've just picked up a phone for the past two weeks."

"Well, if your response to my note earlier today is any indication, then I assumed a call wouldn't be received any better."

My lips twitch up in a satisfied smile. "So you _did _get my message?"

When I first blurted out the caustic response to Taylor, I somehow doubted that he would actually tell Christian exactly what I said. Apparently I was wrong – and I couldn't be happier about it.

He tilts his head to the side in an ironic gesture. "Trust me, Anastasia – real collars look nothing like what I sent you."

"But the intent is still the same, right?" I accuse. "I think you ought to know by now that an expensive gift will never work with me."

He sighs heavily, sounding exasperated. "That's not the impression I was trying to give. I just - ," he stops, at a loss for words.

"Then why?" I ask tersely. "First the flowers – then a necklace. What are you trying to do? Torture me some more?"

Christian blanches, looking dismayed as his eyes widen. "No," he say quickly, shaking his head vigorously. "Of course not. I've just been trying to find some way to break the ice. After the way things were when you left…," he trails of, searching for the right words again. "I didn't know how to approach you," he finishes.

"So you decided that accosting me outside of work would be best?"

"I tried catching up to you earlier today," he points out. "But you wouldn't let me." Suddenly, he narrows his eyes suspiciously. "Who were you with anyway?"

"No one nearly as interesting as who _you _were with," I retort, recalling what I witnessed out on the street today.

"It was just an ol-"

"An _old_ friend?" I interrupt, cocking a brow at him. "As in a BDSM pedophile friend?"

He stares at me. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh? So it wasn't Mrs. Robinson I saw today?" I ask in fake-polite voice.

He doesn't answer, but his face tells me everything I need to know.

I take a brave step closer to him, shortening the already small space between us. "It wasn't her that was _touching _you?" I ask, my voice dropping dramatically in volume so that it sounds odd compared to our previously raised voices.

Christian blinks, taken off guard.

But before he can respond, the loud sound of a growling engine is suddenly drowning everything else out.

I whip my head to the left just in time to see a glinting black motorcycle gliding to a perfect stop alongside the curb. Sitting astride it is a lean figure dressed in light washed jeans and a gray v-neck with a black leather jacket. His face is obscured by a helmet with a black, opaque face shield, though I know exactly who it is. _Impeccable timing, Ethan._

Both Christian and I stare as Ethan kills the engine and straightens up, pulling off his helmet and resting it on his thigh. He looks up, his eyes wary as he takes in the scene in front of him.

"Everything okay, Ana?" he asks, but he's looking at Christian.

"Everything's fine," I answer, looking back at Christian who is staring at Ethan as well. I watch as his eyes narrow and flash with recognition.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and start striding toward Ethan.

"Anastasia!" Christian demands just as I step down off the curb, arriving at the bike. I merely turn my head, giving him an expectant glance.

"We're not finished here," he says, his eyes flickering madly between me and Ethan; or maybe it's between me and the motorcycle – safety freak that he is…

"Yes, we are," I respond matter-of-factly. Ethan reaches down and produces another identical helmet, offering it to me. I take it, and swing my leg over the back of the Ducati, sliding in behind Ethan.

"Nice talking to you Christian," I say lazily as I raise the helmet over my head and slide it on, everything suddenly becoming tinted behind the black face shield.

If Christian says anything else, I don't hear it because Ethan restarts the engine, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the purr of the motorcycle.

Ethan slides his own helmet back on and leans down to grab the handlebars with each hand. I follow his lead and bend with him until my front is pressed against his back. I don't dare glance back at Christian as I bring my arms around Ethan's waist, wrapping them securely about him and letting my hands lay flat against his taut stomach.

And just like that, Ethan hits the throttle and we shoot forward, leaving all thoughts of Christian Grey standing there on the sidewalk.


	11. Chapter 11

The wind blasts past us as we zip ahead, Ethan barely bothering to slow down when necessary. The speed suddenly makes it feel twenty degrees cooler, making me grateful that Ethan thought to provide me with the jeans and jacket.

The ride is somehow cathartic, making me feel as if my anger and frustration have been left behind me – that we're going too fast for them to keep up.

But I know better. I know that even the freeing, refreshing feeling of the wind whipping past us can't erase what just happened.

Even now, as I feel the bike slowing underneath me, I can feel the tumult of raging emotions starting to grow from within me.

I instinctively tighten my arms around Ethan's waist, as he turns another corner before gliding smoothly into a parking lot, slowing the bike until we've come to a complete stop.

As he plants his feet on either side of the bike, I reluctantly release him, straightening and sitting up. I glance around through the dark tint of the helmet at the unfamiliar surroundings. Reaching up, I slide it off my head just as Ethan kills the ignition and sits up as well, taking his helmet off too.

I was so lost in thought the whole way, that I didn't notice where we were headed or even how far we went for that matter.

The absence of the roaring engine suddenly makes everything sound eerily quite, though there are still plenty of other noises surrounding us. Ethan glances over his shoulder.

"We're here," he says quietly. I glance around once more.

I look over to my right, finally spying something indicating where we are.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, peering back at Ethan. "The zoo?" I ask, feeling a little more than muddled at why he would bring me here.

In response, Ethan's face spreads into an easy grin. "Yep. The zoo." He breaks eye contact, looking straight ahead before I can respond. He uses his foot to nudge the kickstand in place and straightens. Because of my jumbled thoughts, it takes me second longer than it should to realize that he's waiting for me to get off first.

With the helmet still in my hands, I put one foot on the ground and swing my other leg over the back, allowing Ethan to do the same.

Still without saying anything, Ethan reaches for my helmet, setting it with his on the side of the bike. When he straightens and looks back at me, I lift my eyebrows again, gesturing with my hand to the huge sign across the parking lot.

"So…," I trail. "The zoo?"

His hazel eyes twinkle with secret delight, making him look like a small boy. "C'mon, Steele. Don't look so skeptical. Didn't you ever come to the zoo when you were a kid?"

"Yeah," I answer, just as we start walking slowly toward the entrance. "But that's just it – I was a kid. I haven't been to a zoo in years."

His eyes gleam even brighter. "Well," he surmises. "I guess it's time you took a walk on the wild side." I can help but grin in response, both of us falling silent as we walk through the entrance.

"Hey, little monkey!" Ethan exclaims with way too much excitement for a grown man. I put my fingertips over my lips, masking a small giggle that escapes me. I can't stop my instinctive reaction of glancing around us – making sure there's no one in earshot to hear him calling out to the oblivious chimps.

Luckily, there's no one near us at the moment. Although by now, I'm starting to get over the embarrassment I felt the first few times he did something like this – talking to the animals and all.

Now, it's just plain funny. I thought I was gunna bust a gut at the little pond of ducks. Ethan started making these absolutely _perfect _duck noises. And if that wasn't already amusing enough, one of them actually starting squawking back at him until it literally sounding like they were having a full-on conversation. I laughed until I was crying.

"God, Ethan," I complain good-naturedly. "If you're like this now, I would hate to know what you were like when you came as a kid."

He chuckles just as we leisurely turn, sauntering on to the next exhibit. "I used to love the zoo," he tells me. "It was the highlight of my year every summer until I turned eleven. Every time I walked into a zoo, it just felt like I was walking into a completely different world. I used to pretend that I had traveled across the planet or something and was on some epic adventure, tracking down all the animals I could."

I smile up and over at him, intrigued by the trivial, sweet detail. "Really?"

He nods, returning my smile wistfully. "Yeah, and I thought maybe you could use a feeling like that – a change of scenery. Obviously, I can't literally take you across the world – or even the country for that matter. So…," he trails off, gesturing grandly with one of his hands around us. "This was the best I could come up with."

My eyes flash over to his face as he walks beside me, my lips parting slightly as I gaze at him, completely touched by his genuine words.

He notices my gaze out of the corner of his eye, and turns to look at me. "What?" he asks, sounding rather self-conscious.

I shake my head slowly twice, trying desperately to swallow the lump of emotion stuck in my throat. This, combined with the rollercoaster of events that has happened today, is suddenly all crashing down on me at once. I feel like I might crack any second, the load of it all too much to bear in one freaking day.

"Why are you doing this?" I blurt out, not even stopping to consider if this is an appropriate response.

Ethan stops mid-stride, putting a halt in our already-slow stroll. His eyebrows come together. "I just told you," he answers, sounding and looking confused.

"No," I say, shaking my head again. "Not just this – all of it. I know we've been friends for a few years now, but why are you doing all of this? Being so incredible when you have no reason to be."

Ethan's face just creases with more confusion. "I have very good reason to be," he corrects. When I don't seem to understand what he means, his face softens and he takes a step closer to me. "Ana," he says. "I care a lot about you – probably more than you know – and I hate to see you hurt or upset. So you can't really blame me for trying to cheer you up. Even if it's just for a little while."

For a fleeting second, his words evoke a sort of warmth, like a sense of security knowing that I have someone who cares this much about me. And I can tell that what he's saying is true – it's written all over his soft features and his bright, earnest eyes.

I blink up at him, welcoming the soothing feeling that is suddenly setting in – not wanting to let it go.

Swallowing hard, I break eye contact for a second, trying to regain some semblance of control over my scattered thoughts and make some sort of response.

But when I look back at him, all I can muster is a simple, "Thank you, Ethan." And I hope he can hear the depth of meaning behind the three plain words – my gratitude. Because, right now, I'm honestly not sure what I would do if I didn't have him here with me.

The past two days have been so completely different with Ethan around. Life actually seems bearable – livable. He's like a balm, relieving the sting of my open wounds, and working to heal them.

Even now, I watch as his face sweeps up into a half-grin, radiating warmth and vitality in reply to my appreciation – and it's like looking right at a ray of sun which obliterates every dark shadow that has gathered around me.

"No problem," he replies softly, turning as we both start walking slowly along the concrete walkway.

We fall silent for a long minute, just ambling along. We're just coming up on the next round of exhibits – tigers, I think – when I feel warm fingers sliding through mine. Surprised, I glance down instinctively where my hand is now locked with Ethan's, his fingers weaving slowly through mine before squeezing tight.

I don't know why, but the blood floods my face, bringing warmth and color to my cheeks as I finally look away.

We come to a halt before the tigers. But I hardly notice the magnificent, striped creatures lounging around in the habitat. Instead, all I can seem to focus on is Ethan's hand in mine, enjoying the immense amount of reassurance that comes from such a small gesture.

I have no idea why it seems like a such a big deal – he held my hand earlier today, and I didn't think near this much of it.

But after the whole mess that followed right after that and the scene with Christian outside of work, it just feels more appreciated. More valued. Just…_more. _

I bite down on my lip, emotion rising violently within me as I ponder that word. That word which meant so many things just a short time ago with a very different person.

I glance sideways out of the corner of my eye, peeking up at Ethan's profile as he stares straight ahead, studying the wildlife in front of him.

_Maybe that's it. _ I think to myself. _Maybe that's why I feel so much better around Ethan. _Anyone who spends just five minutes around either Christian or Ethan could tell that they're total opposites.

Christian is uptight, domineering, and mercurial. Whereas Ethan is easygoing, laid-back, and perpetually happy.

_They're polar opposites…_After having my heart broken by one man, it makes sense that I would shy away from someone like him – and gravitate toward someone different. Someone like Ethan.

Ethan turns his head, spurring me to finally drop my eyes as he says something about the big cats in front of us. I manage to hum some sort of answer, but I'm still too lost in thought to manage much else.

Ethan starts walking along again, still firmly grasping my hand with his long fingers woven with mine.

"Hello! Anybody home?" he says abruptly, catching my attention and making me whip my head around to meet his curious eyes.

"What?"

"Did you not hear me?" he asks, suddenly watching me carefully.

"No," I answer. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked where you would like to go for dinner when we're through. Or if you just want to go home."

"Oh," I say, looking down at my feet as my cheeks turn pink – embarrassed from him catching me not paying attention like I should be. "Uh…It doesn't matter. You've already taken me out enough, so we could go home, and I'll whip us something there if you want."

I look back up at Ethan, going for a polite expression as I wait for his input.

But it never comes. Instead, he gazes down at me for a few long seconds, making me feel more than self-conscious.

I'm just about to ask, "What?" when he finally does say something. But it's not about food.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks quietly, slowing our already-unhurried pace until we're at a stop again.

"Talk about what?" I ask out of instinct, though I'm not stupid – I know that he's referring to. I just hate to think about it.

Ethan's aware that I know as well, because he gives me a slightly reproving, don't-play-dumb-look.

I let out a huge sigh, turning away from him and starting to walk again. This will be easier to talk about if I can't see the concern in his eyes.

So, I stare ahead as I say, "There's not much to talk about. Nothing happened really. Well, nothing outside of Christian being his usual, overbearing self."

"What did he say?" Ethan asks carefully. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Like I said – nothing really. Just a bunch nonsense bickering. I tried to ask him about the necklace, but he never really did give me an answer. He said he wanted to talk to me, but he never got to the point, just kept bitching at me. That's around the time you came along," I say, looking over at him with a rueful smile. "Perfect timing, by the way."

Ethan's lips quirk up half-heartedly. "Happy to be of service."

I smile a little more genuinely as we continue on our way, falling quiet. But not in an awkward pause. This is more of just a companionable silence, both of us just enjoying the moment as we let the worries slip away once more.

Soon, Ethan has practically had full conversations with all of the animals, enticing even more laughter from me, and we're making our way back to the front, headed to the parking lot.

Both of our stomachs are growling, making us pick up the pace a bit, but just as we come to the gate, I pull him to a complete and abrupt stop.

He looks back at me curiously.

"Thanks, Ethan," I tell him sincerely, giving his hand a squeeze. "This was perfect."

He smiles softly, giving a tiny nod.

I start walking again just as he says, "Anything for a friend." This is the same line he used last night.

But unlike last night, I get a different feeling when I hear the title. Instead of feeling real friendliness or comradeship, I feel…unsatisfied somehow.

Even as we walk through the gate and head toward the motorcycle. Even as he hands me the helmet. Even as I swing my leg over and settle in behind him…

I just can't shake the small sense of discontent I feel in the back of my mind as I mull the word over. I sigh, frustrated with myself as I try to forget about it, wrapping my arms around his torso as we take off into the dusky city.

**A/N: Hope you liked those two! More coming soon! I've got some free time on my hands, so i'm trying to write as much as i can while everything is still fresh on my mind! Up next - more drama with Jack..Ooooh :p Review and lemme know what you thot of this stuff b4 i go on! **

**Hopefully sooner, rather than laters, guys!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Wrote this while trying my first cup of Twinings English Breakfast tea…no joke! As always, hope u enjoy!**

"Ah," I mutter to myself, correcting yet another mistake in the piece that I'm proofreading. I don't know who the original author is, but they apparently have never heard of spell check.

"Ana," Jack calls from his office. "Is the edited copy ready yet?"

"Uh, no," I answer. "About five more minutes."  
"Alright. Thanks, sweetheart," he says back. I grimace when I hear the overly-familiar nickname, but keep my eyes trained on the document on the computer screen, trying to finish up.

In reality, it's about eight minutes later when I finish reading through, and hit print. Getting up from my desk, I grab the new copy. But just as I'm about to turn around with it in my hand, Jack is coming out of his office. He stops by my desk, looking oddly harried.

"Just got it finished," I tell him, offering him the stack in my hand. But he shakes his head, already inching away.

"Just hold on to it, and start on the next one," he tells me in a hurry. "Roach just called me in for an emergency meeting. Apparently there's been some change in plans for our trip."

With this, he starts walking off, muttering, "Not the damn day to deal with this."

I stare after him for a second, wondering what could be so urgent. He said it had something to do with our trip.

I go back to the next task at hand, trying not to give in to the sense of unease that creeps up on me as I think about the upcoming excursion.

Part of me is beyond excited. I'm going to New York! For a very important conference – one that could do amazing things for a career that I've just started. The opportunity itself thrills me to death, but the reason behind me going is what has me so concerned.

I've barely been working here two weeks. What assistant gets asked to tag along on a cross-country trip this soon?

_An assistant whose boss wants in her panties…_My subconscious warns from her spot in the back of my mind, setting my teeth on edge. I bite my bottom lip, leaning back in my seat as I abandon the new document in front of me for now.

I take the time to consider something I've been trying not to think about. I play back all the little uncomfortable moments that have happened since I've been here. All the warmer-than-necessary smiles. All the supposedly "accidental" touches and brushes. The standing too close. The sideways glances that make my skin crawl.

I huff out a sharp sigh, closing my eyes. _Maybe I'm just reading too much into it…_After all, I haven't been exactly thinking very clearly lately. My emotions have been so riotous that it's not a far stretch to say that my mind could be playing tricks on me.

_Don't be stupid, Steele. Being emotional doesn't make you blind. _I know I should listen to the more rational part of my brain. Deep down, as much as I hate to admit it, there's something not right with my new boss – something off. And not just an inappropriate lust. It's something more than that – something more sinister.

A deeper anxiety settles over me, thick and potent, as I think about going away with that same person. Staying overnight in a hotel with him. I swallow hard, trying not to visualize the worst case scenario in that situation. We will, after all, being staying in the same hotel.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the office phone interrupts the dark path my thoughts have started down, jarring me back to the present.

I jerk forward, reaching for the phone. "Jack Hyde's office. Anastasia Steele speaking."

"Ana! Hey!" a light voice answers from the other line.

I pause with surprise, before recognition sets in. "Jose?" I ask, delighted to finally hear such a familiar voice.

"Well, I'm surprised you even remember me," he jokes. I lean back in the chair, a smile forming on my lips.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I've been meaning to call you, but things have been so crazy! How did the art show go?!" I ask, suddenly feeling like a horrible friend.

"It went really well! Almost all of the photos were bought. Including the center piece."

"See? I told you it would be amazing! I don't even know why you don't just go into photography full time – you have such a gift," I tell him, ecstatic for his success.

"Nah. Taking pictures is just hobby. I want to get that degree for engineering – then we'll see where life takes me," he says, sounding as carefree as ever.

"I'm so sorry I canceled on you," I say regretfully. "I would've loved to have been there." _Damn Christian for ever selling Wanda! _I had no way to get to Vancouver for his show, so I was forced to cancel – telling him some nonsense about having to work. He tried to play it off, but I know he was disappointed. As was I.

"It's alright. In fact," he says, a noticeable change in his voice. "That's sort of why I'm calling."

"Meaning?"

"I'm gunna be in Seattle this Sunday. I actually have to deliver a few of the paintings that were bought. I thought maybe we could get together. It feels like an eternity since I've seen you."

"That would be great," I respond sincerely. Then, I remember Ethan. "Kate's still in Barbados, but Ethan's staying with me. Is it all right if he joins the party?"

"Sure," Jose answers, but I can still hear the tiniest bit of disappointment when he learns he won't have me to himself. I repress a sigh. I guess some things never change.

"Alright. Sunday it is then," I say happily. But before he can respond, I glance up to see Jack striding back this way, a none too happy expression on his face.

"Jose, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon," I say quickly.

He has just enough time to say, "Kay, Ana. See ya," before I hang up, looking expectantly at Jack as he gets closer.

He stops when he reaches the other side of my desk. "Cancel one of the tickets for New York Monday," he says, irritation palpable in his voice.

My eyebrows crease. "What?"

"Apparently," he says derisively. "All of a sudden, a freeze was just put on all spending. So now, all travel and hotel expenses have to go through senior management. They're still sending me to the conference, but I can't take you with me. Sorry, Ana."

"Okay," I answer automatically, trying not to show the smidge of relief I actually feel from hearing this.

Jack turns on his heel and strides back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him. My relief strengthens as I watch his reaction. Yes, the news is somewhat disappointing, but he shouldn't be anywhere near that angry over not being able to take me with him.

Well, not unless his intentions were something other than talking about books…

I lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath as I silently send my thanks to whoever made the change in management.

Because of the change in plans, Jack asked me to work late to help him get the briefs ready for the conference. It's taken forever and a day, but we've just about got it finished. Anything that's left can wait until tomorrow.

So, I hit print on the last document, and take another glance at the clock. It's almost 7:30. Ethan should already be here. Before I left this morning, he insisted on picking me up again. So I sent him a text earlier, letting him know it would be later than usual.

By now, I'm so ready to leave – to get on the back of the Ducati and let the wind whip past me. To go home and have a nice tall glass of wine and forget all the stress of the workday.

As if to prove this point, Jack peeks out of his office. "Ana," he says. "Is that last copy ready?"

"Yep. It's printing now. I'll bring it to you in just a sec," I tell him. He nods and ducks back inside.

Less than sixty seconds later, I walk through his door with the papers in hand. I offer them to him. "Here they are," I say as he takes them.

"Good," he sighs, setting them on his desk. "Thanks for staying, Ana," he says, looking up at me with a hair-raising smirk on his face, like he's privy to some inside secret.

"No problem," I say, repressing a shudder.

"Before you go – could you make me a cup of tea, please," he asks, his voice eerily dropping lower.

"S-sure," I stammer slightly, my stomach tightening with apprehension at the glint in his dark blue eyes.

I turn on my heel and scurry toward the door, swinging it open – glad when I'm secure on the other side of it.

But just as I take a step away, and look up, I almost jump out of my skin when I see someone sitting at my desk. It takes a long second before shock gives way to recognition.

"What are you doing?" I ask, putting my hand over my heart which is now pounding from the little scare.

Ethan's face stretches into a lazy smile. He's kicked back in my desk chair, lounging idly as he swivels right to left slowly.

I take a step closer, smiling with amusement, though he scared the shit out of me.

He shrugs his shoulders which are covered with that badass-looking black leather jacket.

"I got tired of waiting," he says casually.

I smile a little wider. "Well, I'm just about ready to go. My boss wants some tea – then we'll go."

"Alright," he huffs dramatically with a playful roll of his eyes as he gets to his feet. I can't help but laugh as he ambles away, back toward reception as I head the opposite way, going around the corner to the kitchen.

I take out a mug from the little cabinet and put some water into a measuring cup and put it in the microwave to heat up while I hunt down the tea bags. I get the box just as the microwave beeps.

The water steams from the cup as I take it out of the microwave and set it out on the counter.

I'm just about to put a bag in when I first sense, then hear, someone behind me. I whirl around to find Jack ambling slowly around the corner and into the little kitchen area.

It doesn't escape my notice that he's wearing a small, ominous smile. I swallow hard, my heart suddenly pounding and my palms breaking out into a sweat.

"Uh," I stammer, trying to get my nerves under control. _It's okay. It's okay. You're alright, Steele…for now…_ "It's just about ready." I work to inject some volume in my voice, forcing it not to break. My knees suddenly feel weak as I watch Jack take a couple more lazy, pointed steps toward me, moving like a stalking predator – still regarding me with that disturbing smile and suddenly menacing eyes.

I know I should turn back around to finish making the tea so I can get the hell out of here, but I can't – not when every instinct inside of me is screaming for me not to turn my back on him.

"Forget the tea," he drawls, making my skin crawl with disgust. _Oh no…what to do? What to do?!_

I swallow hard again, trying to fight the rising panic. I attempt to reassure myself that nothing has happened yet. Just because I suddenly feel uncomfortable, doesn't mean there's any real danger.

"Do – do you want coffee, instead?" I ask, hating how my voice quavers. I inch back as he keeps coming forward, until I'm pressed completely against the edge of the counter.

_Shit. I'm cornered. _

His smile widens until it's not even really a smile anymore – more a disturbing show of his teeth.

He doesn't say anything right away – just keeps stepping toward me until we're face to face. My chest is now heaving with a sense of dread – my hard breathing the only sound in the deathly-quiet room.

"No," Jack finally answers, coming to a halt right in front of me. He's so close that I can feel his body heat radiating from him. "I don't want coffee."

All doubt I had about his intentions is obliterated as he moves, planting his hands on the counter on either side of me. Trapping me.

"But I know what I _do _want," he says unnervingly quiet. His dark blue eyes narrow, and in them, I can practically see all the malevolent intentions.

I swallow. _Oh no. _

**A/N: CLIFF HANGER! So what did u think? And what do u suppose will happen? Review and lemme know! It's Labor Day weekend, so I have extra time to write. So no worries, the next chapter will be done and up soon! I'm not mean enough to leave it here for long! **

**Love you guys!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you guys for all the amazing reviews! A lot of speculation and questions about what's gunna happen….well, hope this satisfies and answers all of them! Wrote all day, and managed to get a double update ready for u all! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Jack," I gasp out, fighting the terror as the gravity of the situation finally hits me – the possible outcome to this.

In my head, I can hear Ray's voice as if he were in the room with me. "You have to stay calm, Annie. No matter what – you have to keep a level head. When you panic, you don't think straight. It's the panic that will get you hurt. Or worse."

_Or worse…_

I spent countless times since the year I turned 13, with Ray drilling scenarios with me – what to do, how to act, where to hit…After all that time, I always thought I was more than ready. But now, standing here – looking up in the face of a true fiend – it all evaporates into thin air. Like a mist with not enough substance to grab onto, no matter how hard I try.

"What are you d-doing?" I splutter uselessly, trying desperately to get him talking. Keeping him talking. Keep him distracted. That's the best I can come up with at the moment.

I feel like I'm having some sort of horrible out-of-body experience, as I watch him cock his head to the side, like he's somehow perversely amused by me. He doesn't answer my futile question. He instead inches even closer so that there's no room separating us anymore, and brings his face down closer to mine as well. I suddenly feel like I can't breathe.

"You know, Ana," he murmurs. "I've wanted you from the very moment I saw you. From the second you stepped through the door for that interview." I jerk my face away from his as he leans even closer, bringing us within an inch apart. "So much that I fought for you. I worked to get you hired, though Elizabeth wanted someone else with more experience."

"Jack," I say. "Don't do this." I attempt to make it sound like a warning. But it simply sounds like I'm begging.

"I think you owe me, Ana," he keeps going, as if I hadn't spoken at all. "Admit it – you want me, too. You and I both know it."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I interject, still sounding frazzled, but managing to show my outrage.

"Ooh…," Jack drawls condescendingly. "Don't be like that, sweetheart." I flinch when I hear his pet name for me, the innocuous endearment suddenly making me sick.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Ana. It's your choice. But you should know – I always get what I want."

_You have to use whatever you can to distract your opponent, Ana. Surprise can be your greatest weapon. Use it. _Ray's voice coaches me, making me think clearly long enough for an idea to form in my head.

I swallow my repulsion for the man before me, and turn my head so that we're face to face again. It takes every ounce of willpower I have within me, as I move my hands up, resting them on each of his biceps. I hold my breath and tilt my face toward his, inviting him in.

He smiles wickedly. "Good girl," he praises, filling me with disgust, just before he closes the tiny distance between us.

I wait, biding my time for a moment that seems to last for an eternity. His lips just barely brush up against mine as he moves in for a kiss. But he doesn't get it. I take advantage of the moment – praying that he's let his guard down enough for this to work. My hands are still resting on the top of his arms, and I use the placement – squeezing hard, and keeping him in place as I use every woman's pièce de résistance for such situations – and drive my knee cap upward between his legs, making contact with his groin.

Immediately, he pitches forward with a grunt. Seeing my opportunity, I shove against him, and lurch to the side, attempting to make my escape. Adrenaline pumps through me, and fierce hope spring up within me as I take a long stride away.

But the hope is ripped savagely away when I feel his hand close around my forearm with an iron grip, jerking me to a stop and wrenching me back around. He's still bending slightly at his waist from the hit he just took as he yanks me back to him and pushes me against the counter painfully hard.

I open my mouth, my resulting scream building, but suddenly, his other hand is clamped down on my face, trapping it. He uses his body to hold me against the counter, making escape impossible. My hands clutch uselessly behind me on the counter.

"Feisty, little thing," Jack gasps at my ear as I choke back a sob.

Everything inside me shatters, fear like I've never felt before seizing me, debilitating me, and making me useless. I can see now why Ray said panic would get me killed – because now, I just feel worthless – like anything I do will be for nothing.

_No, no, no! NO! Don't you dare give up that easily, Steele! You're not going down. At least not without one hell of a fight!_

My grasping fingers suddenly make contact with something hot behind me on the countertop, and a new inspiration hits me. There may still be a way out of this.

His hand is still closed over my mouth, and before he can make another move, I part my lips, opening my mouth so that his fingers move between my teeth.

I bite down on his fingers just as I close my hand around the cup behind me, bringing it around me as fast I can and emptying the hot, steaming water that I had just heated up onto him.

He jumps back with a loud howl of pain, and I shove him again. This time, he goes tumbling over backwards. But unfortunately, the hand that I didn't bite is still cleaving to my arm with an unbreakable grip. So when he falls to the floor, he takes me with him so that we both plummet, falling over each other in a tangle.

He groans again, and I scramble up onto all fours, wrenching my arm out of his unforgiving grasp finally. I claw desperately at the floor as I fight to get to my feet. But just as I get one foot under me, I feel the same grip that just left my arm, go around my ankle, tugging it out from under me.

I lose my precious balance and go flailing again. As I fall, my head makes contact with something incredibly hard, knocking me senseless for several moments and making spots of color flash across my vision. It takes me a second to realize that I hit the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Fucking bitch," Jack roars angrily, using his hand on my ankle to drag me to him as he rolls up onto his knees, hovering over me as I'm now laying flat on my back.

I put my hands on his shoulders, trying to shove him away as he pins me to the floor.

_Dammit! Why did I have to work late tonight? This wouldn't be happening if there were someone else here to stop this._

Suddenly, the thought becomes a life-raft. Now, all I see is blond hair and hazel eyes as I wrestle against my assailant and suck in a quick breath, praying it's enough to make sufficient volume.

The reception area isn't too far away, and I pray he'll hear me. All I know, as I fill my lungs, is that Ethan is my last hope. And if this doesn't work…_No! Don't think like that!_

My fingers turn to claws scratching at Jack anywhere they make contact as I let the scream build in my throat.

I open my mouth, letting it rip. "ETHAN!" I scream like a banshee. My throat burns with the strain of pushing the blood-curdling shriek past my vocal cords. I just hope against all odds that it's enough to make it to his ears.

Jack's hand flies up to my mouth once again, trying to smother my cries for help. His fingers are dripping with blood from where I bit him which covers my face as I thrash, tasting the metallic tang on my lips. But it also makes his hand slippery – making it easier for me to twist my face out of his grip.

I yank my head away, sucking in another breath. And before he can recapture me, I belt out another scream. "ETHAN!"

Jack's hand reclaims my mouth, silencing me, and turning my scream to muffled sounds of complaint.

I blink up at him, seeing the feral, almost murderous look in his eyes. And I know. I know there is nothing more I can do to stop him. I'm pinned on the floor underneath him – something which Ray always told me was the worst thing to let happen. I'm helpless. Vulnerable in the worst kind of way.

I feel hot, stinging tears leaking out of my eyes and streaming down the sides of my face toward the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut – not wanting to see the ghastly man above me as he carries out his foul purpose.

But just as my vision goes black, Jack's weight suddenly disappears altogether, his hands vanishing from where they just were on my face and neck. I hear the sound of heavy complaint as my eyes fly open, taking in the scene in front of me with the sweetest mixture of surprise and joy possible.

On his feet, towering above me is a face I have never been happier to see, though he's not looking at me.

Instead, Ethan's eyes are trained only on Jack as he practically throws him across the room. Jack crashes into the small table, displacing two chairs and making them scrape in protest against the floor as he falls into them.

I scramble into a sitting position as I watch my knight in shining black leather take two long strides, bringing him to where Jack is trying to right himself. Ethan doesn't hesitate as he grabs Jack by the collar, yanking him forward at the same time that his right arm snaps back just to shoot forward again. His fist connects with Jack's jaw with an audible sound that fills the room.

But he doesn't stop there. His arm simply swings backward again, springing forward like a coil pulled tight, striking faster than a cobra. He still has Jack by the collar, and drives him back until he has him pinned up against the opposite wall.

I scramble to my feet just as he lands one more punch. I totter slightly, trying to fight the woozy feeling I get and the throbbing in my head where I hit it against the counter.

I'm seeing spots of color again, but I manage to skitter across the room toward Ethan as he pulls his arm back again.

But before he can strike, I reach wildly for his upraised fist, closing the fingers of both my hands around his arm and wrist, clutching at him desperately.

Ethan's face whips around to meet my eyes, looking like I've just pulled him out of some deep concentration, and he's just remembering where he is. Jack is limp against the wall, his face already battered as it lulls against his chest. I stare at Ethan in pleading.

"Stop," I stammer, trying to find my voice. "He's not worth it. Just stop." My voice is raspy, worn out after the two screams I released.

Ethan blinks at me, then nods once, stepping backwards and dropping both of his arms. Without being held to the wall, Jack simply slumps to the floor, groaning in pain. Ethan ignores him as he suddenly turns his whole attention to me.

He puts his hands gently on either side of my face. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he asks anxiously in rush. His eyes roam over me in a quick, head-to-toe inspection for any visible injuries.

I nod vigorously, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "Yes," I gasp after a second. "I'm okay."

"Oh my God," Ethan mutters, moving his hands from my face to pull me to him. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, one hand cradling the back of my head as I bury my face into his chest and squeeze him around the waist. My heart slowly starts returning to a normal pace.

After a long second, he tilts my head up so he can look me in the eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again.

"Yeah," I answer, much calmer now so that I actually sound convincing when I say it. "I'm fine."

Ethan's lips flatten into a grim line as his jaw clenches. He keeps one arm securely around me, keeping me tucked in his side as he turns his attention back to Jack who flounders on the floor, muttering to himself.

"Your boss, I presume?" he says caustically, with enough acid in his voice to erode Mt. Everest.

I nod against his chest just as Ethan pulls out his phone from his back pocket, and starts dialing. I barely even hear him as he talks to the dispatcher on the other line, asking for officers to be sent to this address.

Now that the adrenaline high is starting to wane, I'm left feeling drained and frail. My hands shake where they rest on the small of Ethan's back, and my knees wobble like I'm about to fall over.

I suddenly feel lightheaded, though I'm not sure if that's from the nasty hit I took or simply from shock. Ethan notices my flimsy bearings just as he hangs up the phone, waiting for the police to arrive, because he tightens his grip on me, and pulls me closer.

"Shhh," he soothes, stoking my hair. "It's okay. You're safe. I'm here. You're safe."

He keeps murmuring reassurances, slowing quelling my anxiety until all I'm focused on is his arms around me. And that it's over.

_That I'm safe. _


	14. Chapter 14

"Ethan, this is seriously unnecessary," I huff, oozing exasperation.

"No, it's not, Ana," he responds firmly, pinning me with a serious look. "I want to make sure you're okay. You could have a concussion from hitting your head that hard."

"If the knot that's already coming up is any indication – I'm pretty sure I don't have a concussion," I say, reaching up to very gently stroke the massive, hard spot that indicates where I smacked into the edge of the counter. Just the tentative little poke makes pain radiate through my already-aching head, pounding with a serious headache for the past half-hour as we sat in the waiting room in the ER.

I wince, dropping my hand as Ethan counters my millionth useless plea. "Ana, we're already here," he points out. "So you might as well stop complaining and just humor me."

I let out a tiny sigh, slumping over, weary beyond words and simply nod, knowing that arguing is, indeed, futile at this point.

Ethan is sitting in the lone, small chair in the corner of the room while I sit on the exam table/bed. I glance over to find him gazing blankly around the room, absentmindedly looking at every little boring detail as we wait for the doctor to make his arrival.

As I'm glancing away, I drop my eyes, making them roam over where his hands rest on each of his knees. I quickly do a double-take, my eyes widening as I lock onto his right hand.

"Ethan," I gasp, making his eyes flicker to mine swiftly. I point. "Your hand."

Ethan automatically drops his eyes to his right hand to look at the dark bruise spreading across his knuckles. He stretches his fingers out straight, examining, before he looks back up at me with a casual expression.

"You're hurt," I note, aghast. He gives me a small shrug. "I'm fine, Ana. It's just a bruise."

Ignoring his offhanded response, I slide off the bed, overlooking the lightheadedness I get as I take the two steps necessary to bring me right in front of Ethan. He looks up, surprised, as I reach down and grab his damaged hand, cradling it with both of mine.

"Ana, seriously, I'm fi-," he starts to say, trying to pull his hand out of my grasp.

"Just humor me," I interrupt with the words he just used, tightening my grip around his wrist with one hand while I spread his fingers out on the palm of my other hand. I incline my face to get a better look. His knuckles are pretty battered. I must've underestimated just how hard he was hitting Jack in the first place, making me suddenly grateful that I stopped him when I did. Though, honestly, I wouldn't care if Jack were dead. But I do care what would happen to Ethan.

I keep his hand spread flush against mine, and release his wrist so I can lightly brush my fingertips across the abused skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ethan wince just slightly when I use a little too much pressure. I remove my fingers and look up to give him a frown.

"Why didn't you tell me this was hurting?" I ask.

"Because it wasn't until a little bit ago," he says, laid-back as always. "Besides, I think you're just a tad more important than a bruised hand."

My eyes flicker back down to his hand on mine, and I use the placement to tenderly curve my fingers around the width of his, lifting it to my face. Very gently, I brush a soft kiss across the back of his hand, behind the worst of the black skin. I look back up to find a pair of wide, hazel eyes watching me intently, as I lower his hand just below my chin.

"Thank you, Ethan," I whisper fervently, voice raw with sudden emotion. Everything has moved so quickly that I haven't had the time to feel any real emotion. I've been brushing it aside, concentrating on what's going on right at the moment so that I don't let my mind wander to what almost happened. What Ethan saved me from.

"If you hadn't been there…," I trail off, unable to finish the statement as my voice falters.

"Hey," Ethan croons, using his hand at my chin to reach for my face and brushing the back of his fingers across my cheek. "Don't think like that. I _was _there. And you _are _safe. Just focus on that right now. Okay?"

I take a deep breath, bobbing my head in a couple jerky nods as I fight off unshed tears, stowing them away for a more appropriate time. As if to solidify this thought, a small knock sounds at the door just before it opens. Ethan drops his hand and I swivel to face the door, expecting the doctor. Surprise registers when I don't see the doctor but Detective Clark, the officer who showed up at the scene to get all the facts straight before Ethan brought me to the hospital.

"Miss Steele," he greets softly with a nod of his head as he steps through the door, shutting it behind him.

"Detective Clark," I say, taken off guard, but he holds up his hand to stop me.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he says, holding the same yellow legal pad in his hand as he was when I spoke to him at SIP. "But there're just a few more questions I need to ask. It won't take but a few minutes"

"Okay," I answer with a nod, going to sit back on the table.

True to his word, Detective Clark only stays about five minutes, covering a few basic questions which were overlooked earlier.

But before he leaves, I make a point to ask him what's happening to Jack.

"Right now, he's being processed. He'll at least spend the night incarcerated, then we'll go from there, and bring charges against him if that's what you want to do." His expression is almost quizzical, and I realize that this was intended as a question.

"Anything to keep him away from me," I say fervently.

A look crosses Clark's face but he reigns it in quickly. "Miss Steele…," he trails off in a foreboding tone that makes my back go ramrod straight. "I'm going to be frank with you. We can hold Hyde for now, but I must warn you – because the charges will only add up to a misdemeanor, not a felony, there's a good chance he'll make bail fairly quickly. Now, we can always speak to a judge about getting a restraining order, but you have to keep in mind that you work together. And legally, employees can't be fired until they're found guilty and convicted of a crime."

I stare at the detective for a long second, before the penny drops in my blank mind. Understanding dawns on me as I grasp what he's trying to tell me.

"You're saying I might lose my job over this," I state flatly, inflecting no emotion.

He gives me a grim expression. "I'm saying you might want to think about looking for other employment options in order to keep yourself safe. Right now, there's nothing we could do about him keeping his job a little longer. Providing he does get out on bail."

All the blood drains from my face as I take in his words. "So Ana is going to have to pay for being a victim?" Ethan demands indignantly from his place in the corner. "It's not bad enough the asshole tried to rape her?"

I physically flinch when he says the statement we've both been dancing around for the last hour and a half. The reality is plain and simple but hearing it out loud somehow makes it worse. Makes it really hit home as I consider how lucky I am that someone was there.

"I'm sorry," Clark says, and he sounds like he actually means it. "Trust me – it wouldn't be the first time I've seen it happen. I know it's wrong, but there's simply nothing I can do."

I nod mutely, still ashen faced. "Thank you, Detective Clark," I manage to choke out around the lump in my throat. He nods slowly, his lips flattened into a thin line. "I'll be in touch," he says, and with more sympathetic glance at us, opens the door and steps out.

I take in a breath, and blow it back out noisily, hoping to calm my frayed nerves, but it's of no use.

"Ana…," Ethan starts to say, his voice burning with sympathy. But he doesn't get to say anything else, because there's another knock on the door, interrupting him. I look back up, expecting Clark to step back through, having forgot a question. But again, I'm wrong. This time, the doctor walks through the door, giving me and Ethan both a docile smile as he steps inside with a chart in his hand.

This is the real reason I'm here – to humor Ethan and prove that I am, in fact, going to be just fine. So, once again, I push back everything else for the time being and plaster a fake smile of politeness on my face and take another deep breath as I get ready to answer another round of different questions.

"Alright, follow the point of the pen with your eyes," the doctor instructs, holding up a ball-point pen and moving it from right to left.

I do as I'm told and keep my eyes trained on the very tip until he stops moving it. When he's satisfied, he clicks the pen shut again and puts it back into the pocket of his white coat, rolling backward a little on the little black stool he's sitting on.

"Well," he surmises. "Everything looks okay. All of your reflexes and neurological responses seem normal."

Sighing with annoyance, I glance over at Ethan who is busy watching us anxiously. "See?" I say. "I told you I was fine."

"It's always good to be sure," the doctor interjects, quiet reproach in his voice. "A hard enough hit to the head can cause some pretty bad injuries."

As he talks, he slides across the room on the little stool, taking off his gloves and reaching for my chart. He starts jotting something down as he keeps talking. "Luckily, I don't think you have a concussion. Especially since there is a knot showing up. But you still need to watch out for any signs that something may be wrong." He looks up from what he's writing and moves to stand, clearly wrapping things up. "If you have any nausea, vertigo, blurred vision – anything like that, come back in right away, okay?"

I nod, showing that I understand. "Tylenol or Advil should be enough to help with the headache." He puts his hand on the doorknob, and gestures to my bare arm and Ethan's hand. "And I recommend analgesic cream if the bruises start bothering you too much."

"Okay. Thank you," I say, automatically following the direction he points to the bruises, first on Ethan's hand, then to the one on my forearm where Jack grabbed me. I glance away quickly, not wanting to see the blossoming purple in the shape of his hand and fingers…It's like I can practically still feel them there.

I nod again and thank the doctor just as he smiles kindly and leaves. As soon as he's gone, I slump with relief on the exam table.

Suddenly, I feel so beyond drained as I look over at Ethan. "I told you this wasn't necessary," I repeat.

"Yes. It was," he interjects, moving to stand beside me. He puts his hand comfortingly on my knee. "Now I know you're alright." I have to glance away before the earnest, caring light in his eyes triggers emotion of my own. I clear my throat, trying to force out the lump again. Ethan hears it and mistakes the reason behind it.

"Thirsty?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. "How about I go grab something for both of us? I saw a drink machine just down the hall on our way in here."

I'm just about to object, insisting that we just go ahead and leave already. But I stop myself, the opportunity for me to have a moment to myself presenting itself. Besides, a drink would actually be nice. My throat is tender from the two earsplitting screams I bellowed out earlier. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if I ended up more than a little hoarse for a couple days.

"Okay," I acquiesce with a nod. "That'd be great. When you get back, we'll leave."

Ethan nods, reaching for his black leather coat. "What would you like?"

"Diet Coke."

"Okay. I'll be right back, milady." He manages to give me his trademark, uneven smile, but it doesn't touch his eyes. It doesn't surprise me – this experience has been draining for him too. I'm guessing the bravado is for my benefit. As soon as he's on the other side of the door, I slouch over, going limp for a long moment. I take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth.

_You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. _I keep repeating the statement over and over to myself, trying to wrap the words around me like a security blanket.

Even now that the ordeal is over, I somehow still feel like I'm in danger, my senses hyperaware and my whole body on edge. I have to get the feeling under control. I really don't want Ethan worrying about me more then he already is. Ever since we arrived here at the hospital, he's been watching me like a hawk every second out of the corner of his eye. He thinks I haven't noticed, but those hyperaware senses make it impossible not to see. The thought is warming in a way. Even though I know it's unnecessary, I still take comfort in knowing that I have someone watching out for me.

I repress a shudder to know how different things would be right now if he hadn't decided to come back early from Barbados. Even if I had managed to get away from Jack on my own – I would still be faced with going home to an empty apartment. Just imagining that fills me with a feeling of dismay.

I breathe out again, reminding myself that that's not the case. That I _do _have Ethan with me. I close my eyes for a second, recalling what he said earlier. _"I _was _there. And you _are _safe. Just focus on that."_

I repeat it a couple of times, and when I reopen my eyes, I feel myself calming. Knowing that Ethan is going to be back any minute so we can leave, I hop down from the bed and step across the room where my cardigan is laying over the back of the chair. I grab it, and start pulling it on, as I turn around so I can grab my purse from the table as well.

I'm just pulling my hair out of the back of the cardigan when I hear the door open behind me.

"That was qui-," I start to say as I swivel around. But the words die in my throat, as the air leaves my lungs altogether as my eyes meet those of the last person I was expecting. It's not Ethan standing in the door, looking at me with wild eyes as they roam over me in a quick once-over before they meet my shocked blue ones.

"Christian," I stutter out just as he steps inside and closes the door.

**A/N: Hope u liked it!**


	15. AUTHOR NOTE

**A/N: Okay! Of course, I have to start off by saying THANK YOU to all who have faved and followed – and especially those who have reviewed and PM'ed. The support means more than I can say and I'm so glad people are enjoying the story. **

**First of all, I wanted to answer a couple recurring questions and comments I'm seeing from u guys. **

**1) Yes, Christian bought SIP. That detail is the same as it was as in Fifty Shades Darker. He canceled the trip to New York after Ana told him about it when they argued after she got out of work.**

**2) I know a lot of you are hardcore Ana/Christian fans (so am I) but be PATIENT! I know some of you are wanting to see them make up already. But it's not time for it yet. Ana has to explore this life outside of Christian a little more before making the decision to go back. Plus, Christian keeps being a little bit of an ass, and still has some things to learn before he can succeed in getting her back – in ****_deserving _****her. Mr. Grey is gunna WORK for it this time, my little kiddies! :p Ana is using anger to hide her pain, and Christian is being his usual dominating self, so they are gunna argue some more before they figure out how to be civil with each other…This story is a journey and still has a lot of details to come into play before you get the happily ever after (whatever that may entail). So just be patient with me, and enjoy the ride for now **

** Second of all, I want to address those of you who aren't liking the story. I appreciate the range of opinions, but I have to say – if you don't like the story line, then just don't read it! I'm not saying this to be rude – in fact I welcome critiques. But they should be directed toward ****_how _****I'm writing so I can make it better – not ****_what _****I'm writing. This is just an idea I wanted to explore. And if u don't like the "what if" scenario that I've painted, then just find another story that you ****_do_**** like. The fact is, if you disagree with my plot then you're just wasting your time by reading it. And quite frankly, wasting my time when I read such reviews as "Ana/Ethan…NO! Don't know why I bother reading this story." If u didn't like the idea then why the hell did u click on the story? The summary makes it clear that something is going to happen between the two friends…**

**So, if you are adamant about not seeing Ana and Ethan in a different light, then just stop right here, because it is most certainly gunna happen. I want to write a more realistic, stronger Ana – one that doesn't jump back into a controlling relationship with such a complicated man without at least making him work to get her back. **

**Anywhoo…just thought I would speak my mind before I got anymore into the story. **

**Happy reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Been writing like mad! Don't think I've ever been so passionate about a story before! **

**Anyway! A big thanks to everybody who reviewed! Especially on my last Author's Note – hearing the sweet words of support of those who understand what I'm trying to do with this story is so encouraging! Love you guys! This is for all of you!**

My eyes are still wide, and my lips parted with shock, as I watch Christian shut the door to the exam room behind him. His eyes are the size of silver, fifty-cent coins, and his hair is ruffled as if he's just rolled out of bed, though I'm guessing it's from having his fingers pulled through it in agitation. But despite the frenzied essence about him, he's still the embodiment of a CEO, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and blue tie.

My mind goes completely blank as I think of why, or better yet _how_, he's here. But I don't have time to formulate a single word, even if my mind were working properly. Because within a nanosecond, Christian is already crossing the room, covering the distance with just two strides of his long legs.

He rushes to me, his eyes still alight with tempestuous alarm. Before I can react, each of his hands are on my shoulders, and he looks me up and down once again before finally settling on my shocked face.

"Ana," he gasps out, talking in a rush. "Oh my God. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I answer instinctively, watching him with confusion. I blink, then ask, "What are you doing here?" My subconscious rolls her eyes at me in disgrace. _Obviously, he's here for you, nitwit. _I ignore her, and simply wait for Christian to answer. He's not slow – he knows what I'm asking.

But he doesn't answer me. Instead, he acts as if I hadn't spoken at all, and his hands at my shoulders pull me to him. Before I know what to do, his arms are around me, holding me to his chest as he buries his face in my hair.

"God, Ana," he mutters, the relief in his voice so strong that I can feel it. His arms tighten, feeling like a boa constrictor is wrapped around me instead of warm arms. I don't move, still too shocked to do anything except stand there. And I don't embrace him back, though I can't, even if I had the presence of mind or the desire to do so – as his arms are currently squashing mine, keeping them pinned to my sides.

_It's probably on purpose – to keep you from touching him. _My subconscious chimes in again, this time making me pay attention to her, simply because it's true.

Then, just as abruptly, his hands are at my shoulders again, pushing me back so that I'm at arms length. "What happened? Did he hurt you?" he demands, his gray eyes severe.

"No, I'm alright, Christian," I say, then my eyebrows pull together, as my mind finally catches up to the situation and a more important detail occurs to me. "Who told you? How did you know I was here?"

I watch as his eyes take on that familiar expression – distant and guarded. Again, I can see him put the walls up around himself. Though what he's defending against, I'm not sure.

"I have my ways," he answers cryptically, suddenly watching me warily. I step away, pulling away from his grasp before he can use the contact to distract me. I cross my arms and raise my chin, throwing up fortifications of my own.

"Don't play games with me, Christian," I warn. "Answer me."

He reaches up to run a frustrated hand through his tousled hair, which already looks even messier than normal. "It's not important," he says, his voice sounding weary and outdone. "I actually want to know why I didn't find out from you." His eyes narrow. "Why didn't you call me?"

I stare at him in disbelief – is he _serious_? "Christian, why _would _I call you?"

"You were attacked, Anastasia," he interjects as if this answers my question.

"Yes," I answer with a quick nod. "But we're not together anymore. What happens in my life no longer concerns you."

His eyes go glacial with sharp reproach. "I've told you, Ana. Everything you do concerns me. And your safety will always be my top priority." _Really? Didn't seem to care about how safe I was when _you_ were the danger – when you were busy beating my ass with a belt. _I bite back the harsh remark, and I want so badly to roll my eyes, but stop myself, not wanting to make the situation worse. I've been assaulted once already today, and I'm not looking to go for another round with Fifty and his twitchy palm.

Instead, I run my hand down my face, not seeing any way to make him understand that he has no business meddling around my life any more. "Well, I'm fine. A little banged up, but nothing horrible." I visibly see Christian's shoulders relax as he breathes out a sigh and nods, his eyes thawing a little. He swallows and looks at me with an apprehensive expression.

"So, he didn't…?" Christian trails off, unable to finish the question as he looks at me with consternation.

"Rape me?" I say bluntly, ignoring the shudder that tries to rip through me as the statement literally burns my throat. "No. It didn't get that far. Ethan was ther-."

"Ethan?" Christian interrupts, his eyes flashing with a new emotion this time – suspicion.

"Yes…," I say slowly. "Ethan was waiting for me to get off of work. He heard me scream and came to help. He saved me."

Christian's eyes are still gray ice as he nods twice, his lips flattening into a thin line as he frowns. "Where's Hyde?" he asks brusquely.

"Jail," I answer automatically. "They'll keep him for now, but it looks like he's going to make bail anyway. So it doesn't really matter. And I'm gunna be left looking for another job." I can't disguise the bitterness in my tone, as my hands turn to fists at my side. Then, something about what he just said registers and my eyebrows crease.

"How do you know his name?" I ask, realizing that he just called Jack by his last name, when I hadn't even told him his first.

Christian merely ignores that I've asked him a question, just shaking his head lightly before going on. "I'll deal with him. Don't worry. You won't ever have to lay eyes on him again if I have anything to do with it."

"What do you think you're going to do? He can't even be fired until he's convicted of a crime," I interject. Christian's eyes heat and his lips quirk up on the side, though not in a smile – more of an arrogant expression. "Like I said, Anastasia – I have my ways. And he can't be fired for pending charges but he _can _be fired for questionable character and conduct. Including sexual harassment – both proven and suspected."

"So?" I ask, waving my hand around. "Just because he can, doesn't mean he will be. It's my word against his. I've barely been working there two weeks – who do you think has a better chance of being believed?"

Christian gazes at me impassively. "Just trust me. I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him." His eyes glint dangerously, and I'm just about to question him further when suddenly, the door opens from behind him, making my eyes flicker over Christian's shoulder to watch as Ethan appears in the doorway.

"They didn't have Diet Coke, so I got you -," he's saying, just before he looks up, and stops short. His eyes flicker insanely between me and Christian before finally settling on me. His hand is still on the doorknob as he dithers back and forth in the frame, clearly not sure what to do.

"Uh," he says, sounding just as awkward as I suddenly feel. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," I say at the same time as Christian says, "Yes." Again his eyes flicker between the two of us. Christian is still facing me but has turned his head to glare malevolently at Ethan over his shoulder, but Ethan ignores him and looks to me once again. I gaze back, trying to make my expression reassuring in response to the concern I see register in his light eyes.

"Just give us a minute. I'll be right out, then we can leave." Ethan gives me a rather dubious look, so I nod my head in encouragement and offer him a tiny little smile, just a lift of the corners of my mouth. But thankfully, it's enough because he gives me one serious nod, and with one more perturbed glance at Christian, ducks back out of the doorway and quietly shuts the door behind him.

Christian whips his head back around to me, his face stern as I turn my attention back to him, wondering how long he plans to keep all this nonsense going. I'm about to ask him exactly that, when he speaks, cutting me off.

"I want you to come back to Escala," he says definitively, his tone ringing with finality, clearly a command, not a question. I blink at him, mild annoyance turning to full-blown indignation. I'm just getting ready to give him my best rebuttal, but he stops me by speaking again. "I don't want you alone tonight." This time, his tone is softer, more considerate as his face flashes with worry.

My outrage at his demand quells slightly with the statement, taking his words from an order to a valid concern. Wasn't I just thinking a minute ago how lucky I am that I don't have to go home alone? So, I swallow the first, austere response that has bubbled up to my lips and go for another one.

"I won't be alone," I tell him honestly, again grateful for the fact.

His eyebrows crease momentarily before the other shoe drops in his mind and understanding dawns on him. "Fucking Cavanaugh is staying the night?"

I judiciously choose to ignore the outright malice in his tone, and keep my face calm and patient. Though, I'm feeling anything but at this point.

"Yes. And every other night," I answer, and watch as dismay flickers across Christian's face as he misconstrues my words before I go on. "He's staying in the condo until he gets a place of his own here." Immediately, the dismay disappears when he hears the logical explanation, but it's quickly replaced by disapproval. "So, he's living with you?"

I nod slowly, giving him a dramatic "yeah-so-what?" look. Christian runs his hand through his hair again. "I still want you to stay at Escala."

"Forget it, Christian. It's not happening," I respond. His lips flatten into a thin line of displeasure, but he doesn't say anything right away. I use the pause to start making an escape route out of here.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Grey," I say, with faux politeness in my voice. "I've had a rather exciting evening – one I'd like to forget. So I'd really like to go home now if you don't mind." By the end, the sweet tone has faded out, leaving just scathing sarcasm. His eyes narrow, and I know, I _know, _both palms are probably twitching – dying to hit me in some form or fashion for my insolent reply. The thought makes me roll my eyes before I can stop it – I watch as Christian's jaw clenches visibly. A hint of exhilaration literally runs through me as I marvel in feeling free to do these things now – knowing that I'm no longer his to do with as he wants. Which means I'm free to do as I damn well please. I don't have to pussyfoot around like I'm walking on broken glass, constantly worried about doing or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time that will get me punished. Honestly, standing here, I can't believe I ever thought I could handle living like that constantly.

And for the first time in almost exactly two weeks – for just a split second – I'm actually grateful that I left – got out when I did, before something far worse happened. Before I got even more emotionally invested just to be hurt even worse than I am.

My revelation of freedom forces me to resist just straight up sticking my tongue out at him like a three year old, and telling him where to shove all of his protective, "I'll-take-care-of-it" garbage, knowing there's nothing he can do to make me pay for the action now. But I dismiss the silly ideas and simply turn to grab my purse.

When I turn back around, Christian interjects once again. Go figure. "Are you planning on getting home on that black, two-wheeled death trap?"

I glance back up at him in surprise, taken off-guard slightly by the change in direction. "And what if I am?" I ask carefully.

He frowns, tension rolling off of him. "I don't want you on that thing."

"So?"

"Please, Ana," he beseeches, running a hand through his hair yet again. "Just take the A3. If you want to give it back after you find another car, then fine. Or I can have Taylor escort you. But, _please, _just this once – listen to me. I don't want you gallivanting around on the back of a motorcycle."

"You know, Christian," I say pleasantly as I move toward the door. "Motorcycles are really quite thrilling. You might wanna try riding one sometime." I put my hand on the doorknob and twist, turning to give him one more glance. "Might help get the stick out of your ass."

I have just a second long enough to see the shock cross his face before I snatch open the door, leaving it open as I step through it. I glance both ways, my eyes finding Ethan as he leans up against the opposite wall. He straightens and looks at me with raised eyebrows. I can see the silent inquiry in his face, but I choose to ignore it, saving the questions until later when I can think clearly enough to answer them. Instead, I just walk right past him, muttering, "Let's go."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: This chapter is perhaps the most pivotal so far! It was tricky to write but I hope u guys like it! **

God. It really is true that there is no place like home. In fact, I don't think I've ever been so glad to be walking through the door of the apartment, Ethan shadowing me as we _finally _arrive. I release a huge sigh, looking around the place as if I've been away for a month instead of just the day. It feels as if a weight is lifted off of my shoulders as we enter, Ethan flicking on a couple lights before moving around the island to start rummaging through the kitchen.

I amble stiffly toward the living room area, dropping my purse in the recliner and moving around the coffee table to stand in front of the sofa. I methodically start undoing the little buttons on my cardigan, sliding it off of my shoulders before flopping down unceremoniously onto the big, suede couch Kate's dad bought along with several other furnishings when we moved. The soft cushions give way underneath me as I slump forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.

Hanging my head tiredly, my eyes lock onto the worsening bruise on my forearm, roaming over the outline of four fingers, a palm, and thumb. I keep that arm still as I lift the other from my knee, and tentatively use my fingers to brush at it, tracing it slowly before I place my own fingers over the imprint. The skin throbs a little when I apply pressure, making it seem as if the same cruel grip is still clutching at me.

I'm still staring unblinkingly at the bruise, but I'm not seeing it anymore. Suddenly, all I can see is a pair of sinister deep blue eyes staring back at me. All I can seem to feel is a hand clamped down on my arm.

My chest automatically tightens in fright, and I try to suck in a shallow breath when I realize that I've stopped breathing. I feel my eyes prick painfully and blink rapidly, trying to dispel the horrible reminiscences, but they just get worse. Now, I no longer hear Ethan bustling about behind me. Instead, all I can hear is Jack's voice.

"_I think you owe me, Ana."…_ _"Don't be like that, sweetheart."…_ _"Feisty, little thing."_

I squeeze my eyes shut altogether, not even noticing how it exacerbates my pounding headache when I scrunch my forehead with the action. I bite down hard on my lip, but the sensation just reminds me of Jack's lips brushing up against mine before I thrust my knee into his crotch.

I bury my face in my hands, all of my weight leaning onto my knees as I grasp desperately at my disappearing control. I try frantically to fight the sense of danger, try to swallow everything like I've been doing for the past couple hours, but I can't seem to escape the clutches of the grave situation which I just narrowly avoided.

But all the other times earlier, I had something else to focus on – Ethan being there, answering questions from Detective Clark, checking into the ER, talking to the doctor, even the confrontation with Christian. It all took my focus off of what I was trying not to let myself feel.

But now, I'm finally home, and there's nothing left to distract me, so it's all making an appearance at once – and with an angry vengeance.

My breath catches violently as I try and fail to choke back a sob, my hands becoming slick against my cheeks as the tears that I wasn't even aware of fall from the corners of my eyes in a torrent that I couldn't stop even if I tried.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin away from the contact, clearly on the defensive. My hands fly away from my face and plant on either side of me on the couch as I whip my head around, realizing too late that I should not be this surprised – that I'm not alone here.

Ethan's eyes widen as he jerks back his hand, holding it palm-out as if to show me that he isn't armed. I blink, and the tension in my body immediately evaporates into thin air once my brain comprehends that there's no danger. I huff out a sharp breath, relaxing back into a normal position on the couch and blinking away more tears.

"Ana?" Ethan says softly, moving around the couch arm. His tone is overtly soothing, and his steps are slow and deliberate, as if he's afraid he'll spook me. It's like he's trying to approach a wounded animal. And I hate it. I hate that I'm suddenly such a mess.

I swipe roughly at my eyes with the back of my hand, sniffling quietly and clearing my throat as I force myself to get it together.

Ethan pauses right in front of me, peering down at me for a second with worried eyes before he sinks down, squatting before me so that his face is below mine. I briefly wonder if this is also deliberate – trying to make himself look as small and _un_threatenting as possible.

"Hey…," he soothes, reaching tentatively to rest his hands on both of my knees as I still work to get a grip on the tears that are welling up in my eyes. "It's okay." His hands give a gentle squeeze on my knees before he removes them and raises them up further. I freeze as he reaches toward my face, both hands sliding on either side until my head is cradled in the warmth of his palms. He uses both of his thumbs to very softly brush the moisture that has collected underneath my eyes, catching the new tears as they fall as well.

"Don't cry," he murmurs, shaking his head infinitesimally. "Please, Ana. Don't cry. You're alright. You're here and you're safe."

I give a very loud, unladylike sniffle, blinking until I can see clearly. Once my vision isn't blurred by tears, I'm met with the sight of intense sympathy radiating from a pair of anxious eyes. Suddenly, I feel almost guilty for making such a spectacle of my little emotional breakdown. I at least should have shut myself in my room before going into crisis mode like this, sparing Ethan from feeling obligated to calm me down. After all, this is exactly the kind of thing I did every day when I got home from work before he got here – just for a different reason. So I'm used to self-soothing.

I clear my throat again, and put on my best "I'm-fine" face, giving him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," I tell him, shaking my head lightly, and offering him a small smile of reassurance.

His eyebrows crease, causing a little V to form between his eyes. "Why on earth are you apologizing?"

The compassion in his face and eyes is doing absolutely nothing to help me keep it together, his poignant gaze making me feel even more emotional. So, before I answer, I try to distance myself, wriggling my face out of his hands and suddenly rising to my feet. He stares up at me from his place on the floor as I step around him and move about the couch, swiping at the rest of my tears.

"I'm being silly, I know," I say as lightly as I can manage, throwing in a hollow, awkward laugh that betrays just how embarrassed I suddenly feel from having all the attention on me.

I swivel back around for a moment behind the couch to see Ethan rising fluidly to stand again, watching me with bemusement. Looking away again, I start for the kitchen, trying to come up with something that will occupy me at least for a little while.

But just as I reach the island, I feel a hand on my shoulder again. Luckily, this time, I don't jolt with surprise as Ethan spins me back around to face him. I turn and carefully keep my face impassive as I look up.

He keeps his hand on my shoulder and places the other on my opposite shoulder as well so that I'm at arm's length. He looks down at me shrewdly. "Ana," he says, somehow making my name sound like a soft admonishment. "Don't you dare say you're being silly. You've been through a total shitstorm just in the last few hours. And to be quite frank, I'm amazed that you've handled it this well. Honestly, I'm glad to see you finally reacting like you should. It's actually nice to know that you are mortal, after all." His lips pull up on one side in a little smile, trying to lighten the mood. My lips barely twitch in response as his face regains seriousness.

Removing one hand from my shoulder, he uses the backs of his knuckles to brush across my cheek. Suddenly, tears are welling up in my eyes again, too many to stop before they spill over onto my cheeks.

Ethan blinks, a small frown crossing his fair features before he uses his hand still on my shoulder to pull me to him. His arms snake around my shoulders, one moving diagonally down my back until his hand is resting at my waist. The other drapes over my shoulder as he bends his elbow and uses his bruised hand to very gently cradle the back of my head, being careful not to press against the aching knot.

I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, holding onto him like he's a life raft keeping me afloat as I'm tossed around in a raging ocean. He dips his face until his lips are right by my ear. "Shhh," he breathes. "It's alright. I've got you."

And just like that, hearing those two simple reassurances spoken softly in my ear while wrapped in such a caring embrace, the dam breaks. A sob racks my shoulders, lessened only by Ethan's arms tightening their grip around me as he holds me closer, holds me together while every piece of me fractures and breaks. I bury my face into his chest, soaking his light t-shirt with salt-water as an unstoppable stream of tears leak from my eyes.

I have no idea how long we stay like that, Ethan holding me and murmuring gentle words of comfort into my ear while I cry myself out, my face pressed against his heart which I can feel beating steadily under my cheek. I latch onto the rhythmic sound, concentrating and using it to calm me and bring me back to reason.

Finally, I quiet, settling down into just sniffles. Ethan doesn't let me go, but moves his hand at my waist to rub in small circles across my back. I swallow hard, taking a deep, cleansing breath as I raise my face.

"Ethan," I breathe against his neck. "Thank you." He keeps his arms around me as he pulls his face back so he can peer down at me with a sparkle in his eyes. "You know," he says with a touch of amusement. "You really need to stop thanking me for everything." With a little effort, I loosen my grip around Ethan's waist so I can pull back a few inches, giving me a better view of his face as I fix him with a somber gaze.

"I'm serious," I say, swallowing hard. "I'm glad you're here. Because I really don't know what I would do right now if you weren't."

The amusement vanishes from Ethan's face, his eyes widening with my words as he blinks down at me. Part of me acknowledges that maybe this is too forward of a thing to say, but I can't help it. After what happened tonight, silly inhibitions are the last thing I'm worried about right now. Now, I'm just concentrated on the man holding me. The man who saved me. The man who has made all the difference for me in the past couple of days.

"I'm glad I'm here too," Ethan whispers back after a second.

"And not just tonight," I go on, the words just tumbling out as if by their own volition before I can stop them. Not that I want to, anyway. "These past few days have been so much better with you here. So much…," I pause, looking for the right word. There's only one I can think of that portrays what I'm trying to tell him. "_More_."

"I can't tell you how much everything you've done means to me – just simply being here for me."

I see Ethan's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows. "I'm always here," he mutters quietly. "For whatever you need, Ana."

I blink, letting my tears finally dry from my eyes as Ethan slowly slides his arms from around me, releasing me. Immediately, I feel the loss of his embrace, already wanting to return to it. And stay there.

But he doesn't release me completely. Instead, he merely brings his hands around my head, cradling my face again between his palms. I keep staring upward, gazing into his eyes which suddenly look contemplative, as if he's thinking about something with great consideration. My arms have slid from around his waist so my hands are resting on either side of his torso, just below his rib cage.

I watch, almost mesmerized, as his face changes – a flicker of resolve flashing across his thoughtful expression.

We're already standing close together, hardly any space separating us. So, it doesn't take but a small shift for Ethan to bring his face closer to mine, our foreheads almost touching as he dips lower. His eyes suddenly watch mine with a hint of wariness as they flicker to my parted lips for just a nanosecond before looking back up.

His hands brush lower until they're curved around my jaw, his thumbs caressing across my cheekbones as he leans just a centimeter closer.

My jumbled brain suddenly lights with understanding, finally grasping his intention. I can feel my eyes as they pop wide, my body going rigid and my breath stopping altogether. My pulse picks up pace, and my heart feels like it's in my throat as the pieces snap together.

My subconscious is in the back on my mind screaming at the top her lungs to take a step back. To pull away and put a stop to this before it has the chance to move from thought to action. All the ruckus even has my inner goddess peeking out from her hiding place underneath the red four poster bed where she's been silent and curled up nursing her wounds with various bottles of alcohol for two weeks. Her glassy, disgruntled eyes pop out of her head as well as she gapes at what's happening.

I ignore them both, too lost in a whirlwind of what I should do. But out of all the ideas bouncing around in my head, all I can do is just stand there, not moving a muscle as all this happens with just one tick of the clock.

And just like that, Ethan is moving closer, lowering his face to mine with painstaking ease, still watching me carefully.

My hands tighten at their spot above his hips, though I'm not sure if it's supposed to be a warning or permission. Hell, it could be a muscle spasm at this point. I don't know.

Ethan pauses, so close that the side of his nose is touching mine and I can feel his breath on my face. It's just a second, just a tiny little halt in his motion, but it's enough for me to realize something significant.

Out of all the emotions raging within me – surprise, alarm, worry, exhilaration, a touch of fear, and even excitement – there's one that is missing. Aversion. Even though my mind is trying to tell me that this shouldn't be happening, I don't _feel _as if I should stop it. It doesn't feel wrong like I somehow think it should. At the same time, I haven't decided if it feels right either, but suddenly, I can't pull away. More importantly, I don't want to.

**A/N: Ooooh! Cliff hanger! Sorry, couldn't resist! I'm already half-way through the next chapter but I wanted to hear what you guys think before I went any further! So, review, review, review!**

**Either way, the next chapter (maybe two) should be up soon!**

**Ps-Did everybody hear about the Fifty Shades movie cast? Still so upset about it! (no offense to people who may like it)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Okay, so after getting mixed reviews on the last chapter, I kinda wrestled with keeping this the same as I had originally planned. But it was already almost written and, after all, this is my story so I should stay true to my plans and plot for it. **

**With that being said, there will be plenty of you who don't like what happens, but I'm sorry – I simply can't please everybody. And those of you not really sure about it, just keep in mind that I have a reason for everything I'm writing – it will all come together in the end.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

My little mini-epiphany is what keeps me in place as Ethan finally closes the gap, his eyelids sliding shut though mine are still open wide. The first touch is exactly that. Just a touch as his lips just barely brush against mine. My breath comes in a quick gasp as my lungs start protesting for air from not breathing. Instinctively, my face tilts, my chin rising to give him easier access. His lips leave mine for just an instant, only to return once again, this time with more pressure.

My eyes finally slide closed, my heart pounding violently as I receive without a doubt the gentlest kiss I've ever gotten. Our lips meet delicately, my mouth fitting to the curves of his. Immediately and with a force that shocks me, all the pent up stress evaporates, making my body lose its rigidity and tension. My muscles relax and my shoulders lower as if in relief. Suddenly, everything disappears. The room, all my anxieties, the heartache of the last two weeks, even the trauma this horrible day has led to. It all vanishes into thin air like a puff of smoke, leaving just us. Just me and Ethan, standing here. Kissing.

But as soon as it began, it's over. Ethan only keeps his lips on mine for two, maybe three seconds before he's already pulling back. My eyes flutter open, bringing everything back into stark focus. Ethan blinks down at me, swallowing hard and making his Adam's apple bob again. His hands are still framing my face, his eyes holding mine. Suddenly, a look of almost shock crosses his face, and I can practically hear the words _I can't believe I just did that _echoing through his mind.

My heart gives another pound as a very important thought crosses my mind just a few seconds too late. _What if this changes everything? _

_Of course it's changed everything, you, dipshit! _My subconscious hollers, shaking her finger at me vigorously, beyond enraged that I let this happen. _That's not what I mean _I shout back. And yes, that means I'm talking to myself in third person. Huh. Guess I'm going crazy after all.

Of course I know letting this happen will change things between us. But how much? I don't want to lose Ethan – the way he is now. All easy-going, lazy smiles. Light, airy jokes that don't make sense half the time, which just makes them funnier, if you ask me. And above all, just _caring_. Warm and kind and caring.

What if, after this, things get awkward? What if he just acted out of instinct – just getting caught in the moment as he tried to comfort me? What if he regrets it? Tomorrow, when we both wake up, what if things are different – our friendship irreparably damaged because of it.

A lump forms in my throat as these thoughts flicker across my mind, only made worse by seeing the still staggered look frozen on Ethan's face.

Then, a question I should have asked myself before kissing him back occurs to me as well. _Do I want this? _I mean, a kiss is one thing. A kiss is harmless in and of itself. But what about what comes along with it? What if he doesn't regret it? What if he wants exactly what I told him earlier…_more_? What if things do change between us, but in a different way? I drop my eyes from Ethan's to the floor, moving my face in his hands as dismay washes over me, my thoughts suddenly in a jumble.

_Oh, God. What have I done? _I haven't even thought about it before this second. There's so many things I haven't considered yet. So many scenarios I haven't played out. I'm not even in the right frame of mind to be making these decisions.

The tension is back with a vengeance, horror closing my throat as I realize that what's done is done and there is no way I can take it back. But I don't know if I should be trying to run damage control, or be exploring the possibilities this has opened.

All I know is that all of a sudden, I feel beyond icky. All the day's events clinging to me, each incident like a smudge of dirt smothered to my skin. I feel horribly exposed and incredibly violated. I feel…grimy. Inside and out.

It's almost like a switch that I wasn't even aware of suddenly flips, putting me on autopilot. Every motion feels almost mechanical as I keep my eyes downcast and quickly mutter, "I need a shower," before dropping my hands to my side and pulling away from the hands which hold me. I don't look up or wait for him to respond as I simply move past him, scurrying away toward the hallway and the open bathroom door.

"Ana!" Ethan calls after me, but I barely hear him, and I don't dare answer him – just shut myself securely inside and turn the lock. I lean against the door for a second after I switch on the light, my breathing coming quickly as if I've just ran up a flight of stairs. Finally, though, I reclaim the presence of mind to start moving again. I carefully avoid glancing into the mirror – shuttering to know what I look like right now, and not wanting to find out. I turn the water on, letting it warm up.

With quick, jerky movements I strip off my clothes and throw a towel over the shower curtain rod before stepping in. The water's a little too warm, stinging my skin where it hits, but I don't adjust the temperature. I welcome the burning stream, trying to narrow my entire focus on the feeling as it figuratively and literally cleanses me. I step further into it, letting it drench my hair as well.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the steamy, moist air before blinking water out of my eyes and reaching for my shower puff.

I'm all sensation as I lather the body wash up, and put the puff to my skin. I close my eyes again, concentrating on each stroke and imaging that it's wiping away everything that's happened. Cleaning away all the horrid memories.

_"But I know what I _do _want." _Swish, swish…

_"I've wanted you from the very moment I saw you." _Swipe, swipe…

_"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Ana." _Scrub, scrub…

_"Fucking bitch!" _ Scrape, scrape…

It takes me a long second to realize that I've started using entirely too much pressure as I move the bath puff across the same place it's been for only God knows how long. I lift it, my skin a bright pink from being overly exfoliated. I sigh, banishing the thoughts from my mind and stepping under the hot spray, wishing it really could send everything down the drain.

Washing my hair is a little trickier, having to move around the knot and be careful where I apply pressure on my scalp. But soon, my locks are shampooed and conditioned as well, leaving nothing else to do but just stand here under the water. Which I do. For quite some time.

But eventually, the heat gets to me, making the blood rise to the surface of my skin and my heart rate pick up until I can feel my pulse in my head which is really starting to hurt like hell. So with another sigh, I turn off the water and wring my hair before grabbing the towel.

Steam floats in the air like a mist, and the mirror is completely shrouded with condensation as I wrap the towel around my hair.

My pajamas that I wore last night are still folded up on the back of the top of the towel shelves where I left them when I changed into my work clothes this morning. I snatch them down and pull on the tank top and cotton shorts, putting the same bra back on. No need to give Ethan an eyeful.

The thought acts as a huge reminder of what's waiting for me on the other side of this door. I chew on my lip pensively as I plant my hands on the counter and lean on it heavily.

A wide range of ideas and emotions assault my sensitive, over-loaded brain, just producing confusion as I consider my options. I take a deep breath, and try to single one out.

Option one – march myself in there and tell Ethan to just forget it happened. That I was just lost in the moment of emotional upheaval and it should have never happened. That I don't want to ruin our friendship, and we should just move on.

_Okay. Doable, I suppose. _But there's always the issue of him disagreeing with me. Of him not wanting to forget it. _Alright, we'll work that out. _

Option two – go with it. Take what happened in stride – be okay with it but explain to him that it doesn't need to happen again. That I'm not ready for this to happen. Not just with him but with anybody. That my heart is still mending and I need more time before considering anything of this nature.

_Huh. Sounds pretty good. I guess. _

I tap my fingers against the counter, wavering back and forth, still no closer to a decision.

Option three – go straight to bed, hide under the covers, and hope I die in the middle of the night so that I don't have to deal with this shit at all.

My lips quirk up, seriously liking that idea. But I know it doesn't work that way. I have to get a handle on things before I call it a night. I won't have a moment's peace until I do. And I highly doubt I'll actually die in the middle of the night.

"Come on, Steele. Get a hold of yourself," I whisper under my breath. I weigh option one and option two, trying to find which is better. But in both cases, I still find that I feel like I'm selling myself short. Like I can make a better decision than just between these two.

Okay, so say Ethan doesn't regret kissing me. Say he doesn't want to forget it. Hell, truth be told, I don't want to forget it either so why would I expect him to? And say that he wants _more_.

Both of my options solve nothing in that case. Both of them change everything, making it uncomfortable to even think about trying to go back to how it was.

_But do I want to go back? _That's the crux of my problem. I don't know. I'm just so damn confused.

I can't help it when my thoughts flicker to Christian. A stab of pain lances at my heart, remembering how he looked at the hospital – worried and upset when he thought something may have happened to me. If I didn't know any better, the knowledge would be touching – that he's concerned for me because he cares. But the fact is, is that I _do _know better. And knowing Christian like I do, I know that the reason for him being in such a tizzy was about possessiveness. Obviously, he still thinks of me as his – shown by his actions and words recently. And Christian Grey doesn't take too kindly to anything he owns being in danger. Recalling the way he looked and spoke to Ethan who has done nothing to harm me, just supports this theory. In Christian's mind, I still belong to him and anything that threatens that status is an enemy.

So as always, I know that his reaction had nothing to do with real affection, but control. _It will always be about control with him. _The truth hits me hard, though it's nothing new – nothing I didn't already know.

It's just tough to admit that the object of your love will never return it. Even if he did, I can't be what he needs – can't be what he's looking for.

We're over. We barely had a chance to begin in the first place, but now we're over – despite what he seems to think. _So why shouldn't I let myself try to be happy again? Is there anything wrong with me attempting to find the "more" that he couldn't give me?_

I think over the last couple days. How enjoyable it's been having Ethan around. It's like when he's near, I can't help but feel happier, reassured. His personality is contagious, leaking out and spreading over everybody that comes near him like a blanket. I think about everything's he done for me – making me dinner, joking and teasing when he knows I need to laugh, the zoo, helping me evade Christian, listening when I want to talk and filling the silences when he knows I'd rather not. Not to even mention what he's done for me tonight – literally saving me from a horrible situation. He's just been there, whenever and however I needed him to be.

My thoughts flicker over what he said earlier. _"I'm always here. For whatever you need, Ana." _I know he meant what he said. His actions have more than proved it. He's been my sounding board, a shelter, firm ground to stand on when everything around me is sinking sand. I wince just at the mere thought of losing that.

My breath catches as that thought winds straight into another, more vital one. With striking clarity, I suddenly realize that what I need right now is _him._

And along with that notion, another plan forms in my mind.

Option four – go out there, and tell him I don't regret what happened. That I want to explore where this might go – _because that's exactly what I want to do_. That I don't want to lose him or anything to become strained or forced between us. That I don't want the pain of losing Christian to get in my way of possibly finding something else that could turn out to be something _more_.

I don't get any further than that because suddenly, my hand is at the door, swinging it open as fast as I can. Steam rolls out behind me as my feet dart forward, acting as with their own free will.

I scamper down the hall and round the corner into the wide open space that acts as both kitchen and living room. I stop, and my eyes immediately find him sitting in the lounge chair beside the sofa, leaning forward with his elbow propped up on his knee and his chin resting in his hand. His eyes have a faraway look in them before they suddenly snap up to meet mine.

He springs to his feet just as I start walking toward him with purpose, resolve filling me with determination. Ethan's hands fly out in front of him, and his face exudes remorse. He shakes his head, his eyebrows creasing. "Ana. God, Ana. I am _so _sorry."

His words make me slow, hesitating as I get to the edge of the couch. Anxiety suddenly grips me as I consider that maybe he _does _regret it. Because he sure as hell looks like he does.

Ethan takes a step closer, as I regard him with wariness now. He goes on in a rush, sounding like his words are struggling to keep up with his brain. "I shouldn't have done that." My heart sinks momentarily. "I really hope you don't think I was trying to take advantage of you because you were upset. I wasn't. I _swear. _It's just I've wanted to do that for a long time, and I got in the moment –"

I don't hear anything else he sputters out in panic. I'm too busy rounding the couch, bringing me closer. As soon as I hear that he's just apologizing because he thinks _I'm _offended, my worries disappear.

He stops talking altogether as he watches me stride to him, not stopping when I'm a polite distance away. All of the words I had planned on saying just disappear. So, I toss the plan and instead, I reach up, grasping his face in my hands as I walk straight into him.

I give him no time to respond, and myself no time to think about what I'm doing. _Carpe diem, Steele. Carpe diem _my subconscious sighs, giving up her protests as I raise up onto my tip-toes and pull Ethan's face down to mine, pressing my lips to his.

Ethan freezes with shock at first, his lips flat and unmoving. But after a beat, he relaxes, his lips parting and his mouth molding to mine as his hands move to rest lightly at my hips, kissing me back. I tilt my head further to the right, parting my lips and deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling back altogether. I drop down off of my toes, putting my feet flat on the floor. Ethan's eyes fly open, staring at me with shock – but a good kinda shock, if there is such a thing – as he sucks in a quick breath.

I keep my hands resting on his face as I gaze up and murmur, "Don't be sorry. Because I'm not."

He blinks rapidly a few times, regaining his bearings as the shock gives way to concern. "Are you sure?" he whispers. I nod, my lips curving up on the side. "Because I don't want you to feel pressured, or feel like –"

"Ethan," I interrupt firmly, pinning him with a serious gaze. He stops, the words dying in his throat. "You're not pressuring me." I give him a half-smile. "In fact, you're kinda killing the moment."

His lips quirk and he ducks his head, embarrassed. The sight is absolutely adorable. "Sorry," he says. "I just don't want you to rush into anything because you feel coerced."

"I'm not," I promise. He looks like he's about to say something else, but I don't give him a chance, using my lips to silence his once more. One of his hands move from my waist to cradle the back of my head like earlier, and my hands leave his face to rest lightly on his shoulders.

The kiss deepens again. His mouth is soft, moving with utmost gentleness against mine. The feeling is so foreign compared to what I've become accustomed to in the past month – so tender. It's not sexual, or urgent, or even passionate. It's sweet – just like the man doing the kissing. Desire doesn't bloom fast and hard through me like I've become used to, but instead, a simple warmth – a feeling of comfort and calm as opposed to excitement and exhilaration.

Everything inside me melts, all my worries and fears, and my lips part instinctively, making his do the same. Our breaths mingle together for just a moment. This time, Ethan is the one who breaks the kiss. He pulls back, and I immediately miss the contact.

He touches his forehead to mine, his eyes bright with an excitement that I can see he's trying hard to tame.

"It's late," he notes. "You've been through a lot today. We'll talk about this after you've had a good night's sleep."

Before I can protest, or say anything for that matter, he pulls away, releasing me as he steps back. My arms drop to my sides.

"Go ahead and lay down," he tells me, moving around the couch. "I'll bring you a cup of tea."

I hesitate, watching him carefully for any signs of remorse or regret. But I see none. All I see is sincerity in his face. So feeling reassured that he really is just acting out of consideration for me – and not just trying to extract himself from a hairy situation – I nod and turn, headed for my bedroom.

Once inside, I switch on the lamp, and peel back the covers, sliding between the sheets but still staying propped up in a sitting position. I sigh, leaning my head back as I let my heart rate return to normal. I bring my fingertips to my cheek, feeling the warmth of the blood that has risen underneath, marveling how everything inside of me feels…lighter somehow. Buoyant. I bite my lip and stare at the ceiling.

It takes only a couple minutes before my door is opening. I jerk my face straight ahead and watch as Ethan steps through with a black mug in his hand. He gives me a small smile as he moves over to me, offering me the mug and perching on the side of the bed beside my legs.

I take a steaming sip. "Hmm," I hum appreciatively. "It's perfect." Just two days and he already knows how I like it.

"Here," he says, offering his other hand which is holding something else. I give him my flat palm and he empties three gel capsules into it. Advil. Yay. I swallow them, chasing it with the tea before looking back to Ethan.

He gazes at me with an unreadable expression for a long moment. Finally, he moves his hand to rest lightly on my knee through the blanket. "You gunna be okay?"

I take another sip of tea, looking at him over the rim of the cup. "Yeah," I say after I swallow. "I'm fine."

He nods once. "You really should eat something." He gives me a disapproving look.

"I told you at the hospital," I say. "I don't want anything. My stomach's too weak right now. The tea's enough."

He sighs, giving up and standing abruptly. "Do you need anything else?"

He looks down at me, and suddenly, I can't stand the thought of him leaving. Of being in a dark room by myself. Of him not being near me to keep my mind from wandering down dark places yet again. Of feeling Jack's hands on me.

Apparently he sees it on my face because his eyebrows come together. "What's wrong?"

"Don't go," I whisper, lowering my tea until it's resting in my lap. "I don't want to be alone."

His face softens and he rests his hand on my shoulder. "You need to sleep," he says quietly.

"And I will," I respond. "I just don't want to do it alone."

He blinks, comprehension registering on his face as he understands what I'm asking. His hand leaves my shoulder and he runs it through his hair. His head bobs a couple of times, nodding. "Alright, I'll be right back."

He turns on his heel and disappears through the door. Less than sixty seconds have gone by when he returns – wearing a pair of black sleep pants instead of jeans with the same v-neck shirt.

He doesn't say anything, just quietly shuts the door behind him as I set the half-empty mug on my nightstand. He comes to the side of the bed I'm sitting on and motions with his hand.

"Scoot over."

I comply immediately, sliding further into the sheets and moving back. Ethan grabs the edge of the covers, holding them up as he sits on the edge of the mattress and sticks one, then the other leg under them.

I'm still sitting up, watching him as he gets settled. He slides down until his head is on the pillow. He looks up at me and holds out his arm.

"Come here," he whispers, gesturing with his hand to his side. I hesitate only a second before doing what he says, moving closer to him and sliding down. His outstretched arm goes around me, pulling me closer, guiding me to his chest. Following his lead, I rest my head tentatively against his left pec, reaching out to rest my hand lightly at his side. He uses his other hand to switch off the lamp, plunging us into darkness.

His arm tightens around me and he shifts again, getting settled. My eyes are wide open though I can't see anything as I peer in the direction of his face. Finally though, I relax and lower my face, closing my eyes.

Suddenly I feel his head shift and his breath on my wet hair as he murmurs, "Goodnight, Ana."

My voice is thick with all kinds of emotion as I snuggle just a little closer.

"Goodnight, Ethan."

**A/N: I hope most of you liked it! And if not – please don't review just to bash my plot. No one's making you read it **


	19. AUTHOR NOTE 2

**A/N: Okay, I hate to interrupt the story with another note, but I really want to address some of the opinions I'm reading from you guys.**

** 1) I received a review from a guest saying that this is obviously an Ana/Ethan story...and that's simply not true! YES! Christian and Ana will ALWAYS end up together! I'm a diehard CG/AS fan and would never write anything where they don't find their way back to each other! All I'm doing is writing a different path in which they get there…It's not like Ana and Ethan are madly in love…they're just dabbling. It's only going to be a few days before Ana and Christian get their chance to start mending…**

**2) And with that being said, some of you are still worried that Ethan will end up heartbroken at the end. Seriously? Do you think I'm that mean? Are u guys forgetting about where he's supposed to end up? Again, I'm just going about the SAME story in a different way. He'll be fine!**

**3) Right now, I know it's a little frustrating that every time Ana and Christian see each other, it ends up being an argument. But there's a reason for that! Ana is heartbroken over him, and you have to keep in mind that she doesn't know how he feels about her yet (because he refuses to open up)! He is still being an ass, and that's her way of defending herself and shying away from more pain. Just like in my last note, I'll repeat – BE PATIENT! I know it's already been 19 chapters, but you have to keep in mind that it's only covered a FEW DAYS! And a couple more things have to happen before they move forward! It's coming – I'm gunna be giving Christian a real wakeup call VERY soon! (or Ana will be lol) Christian still has to realize that he has important changes to make before she'll respond differently. **

** So, thanks again to all of you who have reviewed and followed! I'm sad to say that I know I lost some readers with that last chapter. But this is my story. And I'm writing for fun, and to flex my muscles a little while enjoying the journey with you guys – not to please people!**

**If you're one of the few who I know are torn (not sure if they like it or not) just bear with me and hang in there. I promise that you probably will like it pretty soon. I have big plans!**

**So without further adieu, it's double update time! Here's the next 2 chapters! Enjoy!**


	20. Chapter 20

"Are you Anastasia Steele? she asks me, brown eyes wide and curious with secret intensions.

"Yes. Who are you?" I ask, confused. The pale, thin figure – the same one I saw outside of SIP a couple days ago – takes a step closer to me, her face looking even more haggard and sallow. She inclines until we're face to face.

"I was his," she whispers in an eerily shrill voice, sounding like it should be coming from a child. "But he didn't want me anymore. Just like you. Now we're two."

And just like that, I'm suddenly not looking at a stranger anymore – the brown eyes widening and turning to crystal blue; the brunette hair lengthening, filling out and getting a few shades lighter.

And that's all it takes for me to be staring right back at myself, like I'm a ghost floating in front of my own desolate, miserable reflection. My doppelganger blinks, cocking her head to the side. "I'm nobody," she says in that same, strident tone. "Nobody at all."

I jolt awake, catapulted violently into reality, flying straight up in a tangle with the covers with a loud gasp. My eyes pan around the room wildly, taking in the familiar surroundings and finding comfort in the sight after seeing such an unsettling scene just a second ago behind my closed eyelids. My chest heaves and my skin is covered with a light sheen of sweat though I actually feel chilled.

When my brain comprehends that there's no danger, no monsters lurking in wait, I slump backwards, falling onto my elbows behind me. I take a deep breath, my pounding pulse making my head ache at the knot.

Through my consternation, I realize that something's off about my surroundings. Looking over, it dawns on me what it is. I fell asleep in an embrace, enveloped in warmth. And now, I've just woken alone and cold. I eye the empty space beside me where Ethan was last lying.

As I scooch over to the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the floor, I vaguely wonder how long ago he left. Did he just get up or did he move to his own bed after putting me to sleep? I glance at the alarm as I push to my feet. 8:02.

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I shuffle to the door, heading out and toward the bathroom where I empty my bladder, splash some water on my face, and try to get a hold over the mess that is my hair. Giving up, I go back out, more interested in seeing Ethan.

I hear some rustling as I get to the corner where the hall leads into the main room, and sure enough, I'm met with the sight of tousled blond hair standing in the kitchen. He has his back to me, which is bare, showing all the little movements of the muscle under his skin as he fools around with the coffee pot and mug in front of him.

I walk all the way up to the island, leaning on it with my elbows. Another two seconds, and he turns around. His eyes which are still looking rather half-lidded with drowsiness, suddenly pop wide with surprise when he sees me.

I can feel mine do the same thing – but for a very different reason.

I've never seen Ethan shirtless before, and I had no idea he was sporting all _that _underneath those cotton t-shirts. My inner goddess takes me by surprise by scrambling on all fours out from underneath the bed, dressed in red lace panties and matching bra, complete with six inch stilettos. She puts her hands on her hips and eyes Ethan with appreciation. As do I. My subconscious just shakes her head and averts her eyes altogether. Her loss.

His chest is completely smooth, no hair to be mentioned. His biceps curve in subtle bands around his arms. His pecs are defined, leading down to his abdomen which is rippled softly with toned muscles. He's still wearing those light, black sleep pants which sit low on his narrow hips, showcasing the defined V on his lower stomach before it dips below his waistband.

"Hey, I didn't know you were awake," he says, making my eyes snap back up – and away from his hips – as I turn pink in the cheeks. I really hope he didn't just notice that. I clear my throat.

"Just got up," I say, keeping my eyes trained on his. It takes more than a little effort not to let my eyes drop back down.

"I hope I didn't wake you. I would've stayed in bed but I was dying for a cup of Joe. I'm a little bit of a caffeine addict. When I don't have it, I go a little nuts." His lips pull up on one side.

_So he did stay the whole night with me. _The thought suddenly makes me want to hug myself with satisfaction for some insane reason that I can't even begin to explain.

"Uh. No. You didn't wake me."

"Want some tea?"

I nod and he immediately starts working on it. I watch, entranced, as he moves about the spacious kitchen area – so much bigger than the apartment in Vancouver Kate and I shared for four years. He moves with ease, grace even, his muscles shifting and pulling underneath his light skin.

I try for conversation to distract myself from staring like a moron. "Thanks for staying last night," I mutter, feeling blood pool in my cheeks. Suddenly I feel embarrassed to be talking about this. Maybe I should have waited until I was more awake before bringing this up.

Ethan looks up from getting a tea bag out. "No problem," he says, glancing back down. "How's your head?" I automatically reach up to feel around the bump, wincing with the stab it gives when I push too hard.

"Tender, but it's alright. The headache's pretty much gone." He nods and continues working on preparing my Twinings, and we fall silent. I try to think of something else to say, but nothing comes to my brain. The only sound in the room is coming from the cup against the counter and the microwave as he heats the water for the tea.

Suddenly, the silence is deafeningly loud, awkward even. I don't know if Ethan feels it too, but I sure as hell do, filling me with anxiety. _This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. This feeling…I can't take it. _While Ethan has his back to me once more, my thoughts flash back to last night. Crying while he held and comforted me…Him leaning in…His lips against mine…

"Ana," Ethan says suddenly, making my eyes dart back up to his. He gestures to the cup he's holding out to me – probably been trying to give it to me for the past minute. I blush pink again, reaching for the cup.

"Oh," I say. "Sorry. I'm not good awake yet." I take it, blowing the steam away a bit. Ethan leans against the opposite counter, facing me with his hands resting flat on the counter's edge. I keep my eyes trained carefully on the cup in my hands, though I can feel his gaze on me. Finally, I squirm, uncomfortable.

"Ana…," he trails, making me reluctantly look back up at him. He moves to the island, leaning across it and resting on his elbows, looking at me with a measured expression. "About last night…" I swallow convulsively, a pit in my stomach. _Uh oh… _

"Yeah?" I try to look and sound as casual as possible.

"We need to talk." His tone doesn't sound foreboding, but it doesn't sound reassuring either.

"Has anything good ever come after that statement?" I half-joke, raising my eyebrow in a feeble attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere. Ethan's face doesn't change, doesn't pull up in that half-smile, putting me even more on edge. He blinks at me, saying nothing for a moment, and giving nothing away. Finally, after a moment that feels like a lifetime, he finally breaks the silence, putting me out of my misery.

"I just want to make sure we're alright," he says, his eyes suddenly becoming guarded.

"Alright?" I ask. "Of course we're alright."

He puts a hand out in front of him. "I know last night was terrible timing. You were upset and emotional…I should have never let anything happen. I should have waited until you were in a better state of mind. That's totally my fault, and I completely understand if you tell me to just forget it. You say it, and I will. I don't want to mess things up between us."

"Is that what you want?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "To just forget it?"

Ethan looks taken aback. "What? No. Of course not. I told you last night – I've been wanting to do that for longer than you know. But I've waited this long, so if it's what you want, then I can wait some more. Like I said – I don't want you to feel coerced or pressured."

I set my tea down, realizing what the problem is. "That's all your worried about? That I'm the one who regrets what happened?" He nods once, still watching me. I cock my head to the side, and lean on the island again, mimicking his position so that we're face to face.

"I don't," I tell him sincerely. "The only thing I'm worried about is ruining what we have. I don't want things to change between us, to get awkward or uncomfortable."

Ethan's face softens, losing that edge of tension. "That's it? That's your only concern?" This time, I'm the one who nods. Suddenly his face lights up in a huge smile. "Well, that's a relief. I really thought I had seriously fucked up. And as for things changing – that won't happen. I'm still me, and you're still you. Nothing has to change, Ana. At least not the way we are together. We'll still be friends."

I cock an eyebrow at him. "Friends?" I ask, uncertainly. He chuckles, his eyes glimmering in an adorable way.

"Okay, I'll admit – we won't be _just _friend. Not if you don't want to be. We'll just be…," he trails off, looking for the right word. "Figuring it out. Nice and slow."

"Slow?" I ask, looking for elaboration.

"Yes. As slow as you want. One mile per hour. That way – we're not jumping into anything, and if it doesn't work out, then our friendship doesn't have to suffer. It's gunna take time to get to know each other as anything different than what we've been for the past few years. Plus, everything with Grey – I know you need time to work it all out. And adding something serious will just complicate it."

His words reassure me, except the last part. "Ethan," I say. "I hope you don't feel like I'm using you. Like you're nothing more than a rebound."

His lips pull up in a rueful smile. "But aren't I?" he asks, not unkindly – just matter-of-factly. I feel my eyes widen – guilt striking me faster than lightning. "No," I say quickly. "Of course not."

He tilts his head to the side, giving me a look of understanding. "Ana, I've known you for four years now. And I've liked you – as more than a friend – for three and a half of those years. And, in all that time, you never once looked twice at me as anything more than your best friend's brother. Now, all of sudden, you get out of a relationship with a billionaire bachelor, and that suddenly changes." I open my mouth to refute what he's saying, to defend myself, but he holds up one of his hands to stop me, letting him finish. "And I'm not saying this to make you feel bad or guilty. I'm 23, Ana – I've been around the block a few times, so I understand that falling in love, and getting your heart broken changes your outlook on things. Including the people around you. Which is why you suddenly see me differently too. And it's okay. That's why we'll it slow – so you're not rushing from one thing to another just because you're trying to get over someone else. I know you're still in love with him, and that's alright." His lips quirk up again. "I don't mind being used."

I reach my hand out, and use it to cover one of his on the counter. "But that's not all you are, Ethan," I say, trying to make him see that he's more than just a replacement – which he isn't at all. "You've been the only person here for me the past few days. When I'm with you, I feel like everything's alright." He gives me a gentle smile, dropping his eyes momentarily as if he's self-conscious.

"And I'm glad you feel that way." He looks at our hands on the countertop before glancing back up at me. "I want to be here for you. I just want you to be happy, Ana. That's all. I care too much about you as a friend to want anything else."

I blink at him, beyond perplexed at how I'm just now seeing how much Ethan cares. "Why haven't you told me any of this before?" I ask, my voice dropping dramatically in volume. Ethan sighs, letting out a half-laugh as he shrugs his bare shoulders.

"Because it wouldn't have made a difference."

"How do you know that?"

"Ana," Ethan says, making it sound like he thinks I'm being incredibly slow. "Your best friend was in love with you for four years, and was open about it. Yet it made no difference to you in the end."

I stare at him in confusion, not knowing who the hell he's talking about. He said best friend… "Kate?" I ask, feeling and sounding ridiculous. Ethan barks out a laugh.

"No," he chuckles, shaking his head while his eyes dance with momentary mirth. "I forgot his name. The Latino guy who walks around going "_Dios mio_" at everything. Kate makes fun of him all the time."

"Jose?"

"Yeah. Him. You spent everyday together, knowing he wanted more. Yet it never changed anything for you. I knew I had even less chances. We've been at different schools, and rarely even saw each other. What would have been the point?"

"The point would have been letting me make the decision myself. Instead of just assuming what I would have said," I answer, my voice raising. Ethan holds out the hand that's not under mine.

"It's a moot point. It doesn't change anything. You know now, so let's just move forward, okay?"

I nod slowly, still chewing on my lip thoughtfully as I mull over what he's just said. Despite what I'd like to think – seeing things differently now – I know deep down, that what he's saying is true. For the past few years, all during college, I never really gave Ethan much thought. Or any man, for that matter. As far as I was always concerned, he was just Kate's older brother who came for a visit every now and then. I always enjoyed having him around – he's always been a hoot who provided for a damn good laugh and a good time. But he's right – I never gave him a second thought as anything more. Of course, I always assumed the feeling was mutual. But he's right again by saying it's a moot point. All the speculation in the world will never answer the question "what if" here. Nor is it important. What's important is the here and now.

"Shouldn't you be leaving soon?" Ethan asks, breaking me out of my reverie. I glance back up at him, being pulled sharply back to reality. I sigh – not even Ethan can spare me from the harsh truth which I'd love to avoid.

"I guess," I answer uncertainly, looking over at the clock whose hands have moved farther up than I thought. "Don't really know why I'm bothering. I'm just gunna have to quit, and that can just be done over the phone."

Ethan turns his hand under mine so he can give my fingers a gentle squeeze. "You never know," he offers, supportively. "It's Friday anyway. At the very least, you can work one last day – get two full weeks out of it." I nod, reluctantly straightening from the bar.

"I guess I'd better go get ready then." With that, I turn on my heel and head back toward my room. I try my best to shake the knot in my stomach as I methodically pick out something suitable for a workday. My nicest jeans and a silky, scoop-neck blouse which Kate passed down to me secondhand when she needed extra space in her closet after a shopping spree.

Mechanically, I change into the clothes, arranging everything. I try not to notice how much looser the outfit is than the last time I wore it – more material hanging from my torso than there should be. I grimace – maybe I should try getting on the scales sometime just to see exactly how much weight I've lost.

I slip my feet into a pair of wedge heels, and spray on some perfume. I grab a light blazer that goes with the blouse before heading to the bathroom. Inside, I attempt to make sense of the haystack that is my hair, to no avail. Finally, I give up, tossing my head over and gathering it all back to arrange it into a simple ponytail. After I brush on some light makeup and scrub my teeth clean, I'm finished and turn off the light, heading back out.

I round the corner, to find Ethan – wearing a shirt now that matches the Bermuda shorts he's changed into – polishing off a bowl of cereal. When he sees me, he holds the bowl up and talks around the mouthful of Lucky Charms in his mouth. "Want some?" I shake my head, looking at the clock again and pulling on the jacket. It's supposed to be pretty warm today, but the extra layer will cover the dark bruise on my arm. I don't want to see it anymore than I want other people looking at it – wondering how I got it. Especially since it's obviously a hand imprint, and can't be explained away by a moment of clumsiness.

"No time. I'll just take an energy bar with me again. If it's gunna be my last day, I can at least show up on time." As I talk, I open the cabinet and snatch out the little snack food, and throw it in my purse as I put the strap on my shoulder, starting to move toward the door.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?" Ethan says behind me. I turn to find him setting his bowl in the sink, watching me with concern.

"I will," I sigh, putting my hand on the doorknob.

I'm just about to twist the knob, when I stop myself. If I'm gunna face what is sure to be a long and trying day, I might as well give myself something to brighten it up. Acting on impulse, I drop my hand from the door, and stride right back toward Ethan standing in the kitchen. I keep one hand wrapped around my purse strap and the other on the edge of the counter as I incline my face to his, giving him a light goodbye peck.

When I pull back, he looks down at me with a mixture of surprise and contentment, keeping his head ducked low to mine. This close, with the addition of the bright morning light, I can see the distinct smatterings of color in his eyes – how it's more brown near his pupil, gradually turning to green, all the little flecks of color working together to make up his light soft eyes.

"Laters," I whisper. His face breaks into a wide smile, and I can literally see his eyes twinkle before he raises his face and gives me another kiss on the forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment. I let my eyes slide close, enjoying the sensation before he pulls back.

"Laters, baby," he whispers back. My lips stretch into a silly grin, reveling in hearing the line from someone else.

I keep staring up at Ethan, not wanting to leave, but finally, his eyes glance away toward the clock. "You're gunna be late, Steele. Better get a move on."

Damn. Reluctantly, I turn around and move back toward the door. I put my hand on the knob once again, twisting it and pulling the door open. I give one last glimpse over my shoulder. "See you tonight, I guess."

"Good luck," is the last thing I hear before shutting myself on the other side.

As I step outside into the unusually bright, sunny day, I'm watching my feet carefully so I don't trip in the heels, so it takes me an extra second or two to realize there's something very different about my normal surroundings. Glancing up, I spot what it is.

Immediately, the first thing I see is glinting black – and not from Ethan's motorcycle sitting two parking spaces down. Instead, my eyes lock first onto the large Audi SUV, before moving left to settle on the sleek, still-new looking A3, flashing red in the sun. I gape for a second, too shocked to do much else. But finally, I see motion out of the corner of my eye. Whipping my head around, I'm suddenly looking at Taylor's impassive expression as he stands by the SUV.

My eyes flicker insanely between him and the A3, not able to settle on just one for the time being. Eventually, they settle on Taylor, as I take a couple cautious steps closer to him.

"Miss Steele," he greets with a nod.

"Taylor," I respond, trying to keep the question out of my voice. But apparently, Taylor already has orders to explain it to me, because he steps forward, producing a plain little white envelope.

"Mr. Grey wanted me to give you this." I stare at it for a long time, deliberating if I should just ignore it – whatever it says on the inside (though I already have a damn good idea) – and keep walking. The only thing that stops me from doing just that is curiosity, and consideration for Taylor. This is, after all, his job. And knowing Christian, he'll find someway to blame Taylor for not doing it properly if all doesn't go according to his perfect, controlled plan.

So, with a heavy sigh, I reach for the note and take it from Taylor, ripping into it and pulling out the plain card. I'm surprised when I see that it's handwritten instead of typed like the last two I got from him. But if it's his actual handwriting, I can't tell. I scan through, reading the words which I already knew were coming.

Anastasia,

If it's thrills you're looking for,

I can arrange better alternatives than riding a motorcycle.

So please, I beg you, just take the A3 back for now. If not,

Taylor can take you anywhere you want to go. It's much safer. I hope you

have a good day at work, and remember – don't

worry about anything. I've got everything

taken care of.

With Solicitude,

Mr. Has-a-Stick-Up-His-Ass-Grey

Despite myself, I actually crack a smile as I read the signature. But it soon disappears, and I sigh again, looking back up at Taylor who's suddenly holding a set of keys that I recognize from the last time I saw them – when I was leaving them behind with the Mac and the Blackberry.

"Do I have much choice in this?" I ask rhetorically, expecting no answer from the carved-from-stone man in front of me.

But he surprises me when I see his lips flatten into a thin line, and he shifts. "You always have a choice, Miss Steele," he says gruffly. He looks like he wants to say more – which I'm sure he does – but he closes his mouth and returns to staring at me impassively, no emotion leaking through his features.

Again, my eyes flicker back and forth between him and the car. Shit, I'm gunna be late now for sure because of this.

_Not if you take the car…_My subconscious whispers obviously from her spot in her winged back chair, wearing her smuggest, I-know-everything-look.

I know she's right. The A3 moves like a dream, and will most definitely get me there fast enough if I step on it.

I look once more at the card in my hand. I don't want to feel like I'm giving in – like I'm only conceding to Christian's demands once again. _What can this once hurt?_ I really need to be moving, and after today, I can just tell him to take it – along with all of his other overbearing, high-handed pushiness.

So, not meeting his gaze, I snatch the keys out of Taylor's hand and march to the gleaming red car.

**A/N: Thought I'd throw in a little reminder there at the beginning…Don't wanna forget about the crazy ex…hehe**


	21. Chapter 21

Just as predicted, I arrive at work in the nick of time, the Audi moving smoothly into the parking space. If I'm being honest, I've kind of missed this car. But I have no time to dwell on such inane thoughts, as I put it in park and throw myself out of the car and start scurrying up the sidewalk.

I grab the door handle when something catches my eye. Turning to look, I see the SUV sliding alongside the opposite curb. I stare at it for a long moment. _Seriously? _I was in such a rush that I didn't notice Taylor following me. As I shake it off, I really hope he's not planning for Taylor to shadow me everywhere. If so, we're gunna have a problem. Taylor's job is to provide security for _Mr. Grey – _not the object of Mr. Grey's obsessive protectiveness…who is more than capable of taking care of herself!

_Okay, time to stop referring to yourself – myself – in third person. Shake a leg, Steele. We'll deal with Grey later. One thing at a time today. _

With that thought, I swing the door open, flinging myself inside just as the clock strikes nine. I breathe a sigh of relief with my punctuality, but it's short-lived as the knot returns to my stomach as I consider what may be waiting for me today.

It's not really a big mystery. Given what Detective Clark said last night in the ER, I'm going to have to quit regardless. I can't take the risk of putting myself in such a dangerous, not to mention uncomfortable, situation. I'd much rather just cut my losses and take the little experience I was able to get and put it to use somewhere else – preferably working for a woman.

Sure enough, everything comes into sharp focus when my desk comes into view. Standing beside it is Elizabeth, already waiting for me, arms crossed and an expectant look on her face as we make eye contact.

I stop short for a moment. _Oh here we go. This is it. _I take a deep breath, and continue walking again. It seems like ages have passed before I finally reach her and the desk.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," I say, having to put extreme effort in forcing my voice not to waver.

"Good morning, Ana," she says, her tone polite, but her face meaning business. I regard her warily as I slowly set my purse on the desk, but making no move to sit.

"I hate to spring this on you so suddenly," she begins. _Uh oh. _"But I have some rather unexpected news."

"Oh?" My knees start to wobble.

"It seems Jack has been let go rather abruptly. I don't why – nor do I really care – but because of the short notice, we have absolutely no replacement. So Roach has told me to make you acting editor for now. So, go ahead and move your things into his office. I'm sure by now you have a good idea of what the job entails. But we'll have a meeting later to clear any questions up."

I gawk at her for a moment, not fully comprehending what she just said. "Uh – So…so, I'm taking Jack's job?" I ask idiotically.

She nods. "Yes, for now. We don't have a choice."

"You don't know why he was fired?" I ask, beyond confused. As far as I know, no one knows about what happened last night. But I can't think of any other reason he would've been fired. Even if it _was _for that reason, I can't imagine that it would have happened that fast.

"No, I don't. And like I said – I don't care. I just care that his job gets done."

"Okay," I answer automatically. Elizabeth takes a step away from my desk, a dark look passing her features. "I'm glad he's gone," she mutters so quietly that I wonder if I was meant to hear it at all. She looks back up one last time. "Good luck, Ana. I'm sure you'll do just fine."

With that, she walks away, leaving me staring after her, still in shock. After several ticks of the clock, my brain decides to start working again, registering that I was given instructions. So I make quick work of gathering up the few things on my desk. With everything in hand, I move to Jack's – my – office. I open the door tentatively, half-expecting Jack to be sitting there as usual – and shuddering at the thought. Slowly, I walk to his desk, moving around it.

It takes me a second to realize that it looks different, bare. Everything has already been cleared away, erasing all traces that Jack was ever here. _God, that was quick. _I breathe a sigh of relief, not having to see reminders which will just trigger unpleasant memories when I need all my brain power focused on what I'm doing.

Settling everything onto the desk, I lower myself slowly into the leather chair, scooting up. I look around – wondering how the hell this happened. I came in this morning, fully expecting to quit at the end of the day. But instead, as soon as I walk in, I learn that I've been promoted – even if it is only temporary.

Even though I'm beyond relieved, I can't shake the suspicion that something isn't right. Like everything's just a little _too _perfect, _too _controlled…

Oh. My. God. _Surely not!_

Suddenly, I dig through my purse, pulling out the discarded note I threw in before driving here. My eyes find the last lines.

_And remember – don't _

_worry about anything. I've got everything_

_ taken care of._

I read the lines again…_I've got everything taken care of…_I set the card back down, trying to recall what he said last night while we were bickering in the hospital. _"I'll deal with him. Don't worry. You won't ever have to lay eyes on him again if I have anything to do with it." _And what did he say after that? When I asked how he was going to do anything about it? _"Just trust me. I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him."_

I swallow, trying to rationalize everything in my mind. The answer is staring me straight in the face – I know it is, but I somehow can't seem to accept it. Surely Jack being fired this fast has nothing to do with Christian…Even Mr. Grey couldn't have made it happen that quickly. I mean, where would he have the influence? I know he's a powerful man and all, but what leverage does he have over a small, inconsequential publishing company? His way would have included pricey lawyers and pulling strings – things that would have taken at least maybe a week.

_Unless maybe he bribed someone…_I shake my head, trying to deny it. Maybe it has nothing to do with him after all. I know it sounds unlikely, but I can't help but hope it doesn't.

But I don't get a chance to analyze the evidence to the contrary any further, though, because suddenly the phone is ringing, jarring me back to the present – back to my new job description. Startled, I shove everything to the back of my mind, and reach for the phone.

"Alright, Ana," Elizabeth says, poking her head in the door. "You can go ahead and go to lunch. Great work so far. You've really come through."

I look up from the stack of papers in front of me, pleased by her praise, and also relieved I finally get an hour away from the break-neck pace everything's been moving at all morning.

"Okay. Thanks." Elizabeth disappears through the door again, and I lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath before setting everything aside and grabbing my purse. I make my way out of the building, passing by Claire in reception. When I see her, I'm reminded of a trivial little idea I had earlier in the week before all the drama started.

"I love your hair. Who did it?" I ask, noticing the sharp, sleek bob cut and subtle highlights. I'm not looking for anything of the sort, but it was obviously well done, and I _really _need a haircut. It's going on six months since my last trim. It's a little out of control, to say the least.

"Oh thanks," she says, turning a little pink when she hears my compliment. "Uh, I get it done at this great little salon on Second Street, a couple miles down the road. Here, I'll give you their number and my stylist's name." She grabs one of SIP's business cards on the front desk and quickly scrawls on the back of it before handing it to me.

"Thanks," I say, taking it.

"Sure thing."

I tuck the card into my purse as I walk through the doors. Making my way down the sidewalk, I immediately see the SUV still parked on the opposite curb. Oh great. I guess he is planning for Taylor to follow me around. I sigh, walking past the glinting red A3. _I need to find an alternative soon. _It's already been two weeks that I've gone without a car. And though I don't see Christian's point of view about the motorcycle, I do need to be thinking about getting a car of my own. That way, I'm not asking Ethan for a ride all the time or worrying about bus schedules. Plus, it will be one less thing for Mr. Grey to pester me about.

I take my time walking across the street, headed for the same little bistro I spent my first lunch with Ethan when he got back into town. The thought reminds me that he's probably wondering how things are going for me. Boy, little does he know…So, I dig my phone out of the abyss that is my purse and shoot him a quick text.

**On break. Have so much to tell you. Join me for lunch? **I get his reply almost immediately.

**Can't wait to hear! I would love to, but I promised Greg I would help him with some mechanic work today. **

**Okay. Tonight then. **

**Count on it. J**

I can't help the tiny stab of disappointment when I learn he won't be joining me. I'm dying to tell him everything that has happened and my suspicions concerning the reason behind all of it. But Greg is the guy who took care of the Ducati for him, so Ethan kind of owes him a favor. So, I make my way into the restaurant solo, order a turkey sandwich, and take my seat with a bottled water.

After I take one big bite, I dig the card that Claire gave me out of my purse and decide to go ahead and see about making an appointment. I dial the number and speak to a girl with a deep southern drawl, asking for the same stylist whose name is written on the card. Surprisingly, I'm able to make an appointment for 11 tomorrow – something actually working out in my favor, even if it is something as simple as a hair appointment.

I hang up, for some reason feeling a sense of accomplishment that I got one thing taken care of. So, with new motivation, I take another bite of my sandwich and decide to move onto the next one – the car issue.

When I left Escala, I took the check Christian gave me and just stuffed it in my wallet. I never even glanced at it to see the amount. I haven't even thought twice about it before now – too busy being preoccupied with crying over unrequited love for the first 10 days, and simply too busy period for the past four.

I know whatever he got for Wanda probably isn't much, and I've just started a new job. So, it will still probably be awhile before I can actually afford a car without clearing my bank account completely, but I at least need to see what I have to work with so I can get a timetable.

So, I take a couple more bites of food, then start fishing for my wallet, popping it open. It takes me a minute to remember which pocket I stuffed it into. But once I do, I take the folded rectangular paper out. I put both elbows on the table and lean forward with the check in front of my face as I pull back the edges, opening it.

I blink at it, my eyes scanning – coming to rest on the amount. At first glance, I assume it says $2,400. _Whoa. That's a generous price for a car that old…_

But then I look again…seeing a different figure this time…

For a moment, I think I'm imagining the extra zero. But then, I look over to Christian's handwriting where it's written out…and sure enough I read it once, twice, three times… _Twenty-four thousand dollars._

I lean back in my chair, looking up from the check as I lower it onto the table. I glance down once more, quadruple checking…Nope, it's still there.

I swallow and resist the urge to scream out loud. _TWENTY-FOUR THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS! .FUCK?_

My subconscious is shaking her head sadly at me. _Why are you so surprised? It's just like him to do something like this._

My inner goddess, on the other hand, is busy deciding the hood of which car she would look best draped across while wearing some lacy lingerie.

I ignore them both, still gaping at the piece of paper. After a minute, disbelief turns to irritation, and the longer I sit there – irritation gives way to full blown anger.

Forget surprised – I'm pissed.

_What kind of fool does he take me for? _I mean seriously! Does he sincerely believe that I would ever think he got a fraction of this for my car? And better yet – did he think I would just accept it? He knew how uncomfortable I was with all the expensive frivolities – and that was just what he _lent _me, like the Mac and the Blackberry. What kind of screws are loose in that brain of his to make him even suppose that I would be okay with him literally giving me an obscene amount of money? Cause I sure as hell know there is no way he got this by selling my car.

I stare at the suddenly offensive little piece of paper, seething. Glancing up for a moment, I catch sight of my cell lying on the table beside my water, and I grab it. My fingers dial out the familiar number that I couldn't forget no matter how badly I may want to. I deleted his contact info out of my phone when I started using it after leaving the Blackberry with him – not wanting to see his name. But I stop suddenly, my thumb hovering over the green CALL button. I huff out a sharp breath as I chew on my lip. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose. And when I open them again, I move my finger and clear the screen.

I want so badly to dial the number…but then what? Just call him for him to make absurd excuses and argue with me some more? What would be the point? It would only make me angrier. We're probably already headed for a big enough problem when I give the keys to the A3 back, and refuse to have Taylor – or any security – following me around.

So, I set the phone back down and snatch up the check again. Well, just because I have the check doesn't mean I have to cash it. Disgusted, I take the top in my fingers and rip it down the middle. Then I put the two halves together, and rip it again…and again…until all that's left is little tiny shreds of paper.

I glance at the clock. I still have almost a half hour left on break, but my appetite is good as gone, and not likely to come back any time soon. Plus, without Ethan around until sometime tonight, I have nothing to distract me except work. So, I throw the shredded check into the sandwich wrapper, folding it around my unfinished lunch and get up from the table, tossing it all in the trash on my way out.

I'm still frustrated as I return to work, throwing all of my attention into what I'm doing. How is it that I break up with this man, and he becomes even _more _overbearing than he was while we were together – if that was even possible in the first place? Leave it to Christian to find a way make his presence known regardless.

With one more deep breath, I push all thoughts of Christian Pain-in-My-Ass Grey away for the time being, and get to work at my new role as acting editor.

Before I even know how, hours have passed and I look up when I hear a knock at the door just before Roach sticks his head in. I set down the manuscript I've been reading as he comes in.

"You planning on staying all night?" he asks with amusement. Perplexed, I glance at the clock, surprised when I see that I should have left ten minutes ago. I turn a little pink, gesturing to the manuscript on my desk.

"It's a really good read," I explain. "I tend to lose sense of time when I get absorbed into a story."

Roach comes to stop on the other side of the desk, nodding. "Sign of a good editor," he comments. "But I'm glad I caught you before you left. I wanted to tell you what a great job you've done today given the circumstances. I'm really impressed. Hell, keep this up, and the position might not be temporary."

I blush deeper with his praise. "Just happy I could help." He nods again, and I decide to take advantage of the opportunity to finagle some more information. I lean back and assume a casual expression and tone. "So, do you know the reason Jack was fired so suddenly?" I stay as innocent and nonchalant as possible. But to my disappointment, Roach shakes his head. "No, I don't. I don't think anybody does. Word is, someone in senior management made the decision – above my pay grade. So apparently he must have pissed someone pretty high up off somehow. Kind of surprising given the recent changes."

"Changes?" I ask, my curiosity piqued, though I try to hide it. Suddenly, Roach looks regretful, like he's just said something he wasn't supposed to. Sure enough, he ducks his head and mumbles, "No one's supposed to know."

I cock my head to the side, and give him my best smile of reassurance. "I won't say anything. Promise."

His eyes dart around the room as if he's worried someone will hear though that's impossible. He leans a little closer and drops his voice to a stage-whisper. "Well, the news is supposed to be embargoed for a while longer…But as of last week, SIP was bought out."

"Bought out?" I wince when my voice comes out much louder than I intended. Lowering it, I try to resume my blasé tone. "Why? Were we going under or something?"

"No. We were one of the few publishers doing fine financially. But apparently, a lot of money was flashed at the original owner who couldn't resist. Everything is still being settled to make the transition." Then he adds, "So you can't tell anyone. The announcement won't be made at least until late next week."

I nod, but I'm only half-paying attention to his words. I'm too busy mulling it around…A publishing company just up and bought out of the blue. My eyebrows crease as a feeling of unease comes over me – almost suspicion. I look back up at Roach.

"When did you say this happened?"

"Uh, it was made final last week. So I'm guessing the deal was made about two weeks ago or so. Why?"

I shake my head, all the blood draining from my face. "No reason," I manage to whisper, my eyes staring at my desk but not seeing it anymore.

Two weeks ago…right when I started working here…_Surely it's a coincidence. _This can't have anything to do with me. _But can it? _When I have an obsessive, billionaire ex who is hell-bent on harassing me? I swallow, recalling my suspicions earlier today about Jack being fired…Christian's words in the hospital about how he "had his ways", and would make sure Jack got "what was coming to him". I had wondered how he had the influence to do anything…And Roach just sat here and said Jack's termination was made by somebody high up…Oh. God.

My heart starts pounding as I look back up to Roach who is oblivious to my reaction as the puzzle pieces start clicking together with sickening clarity. I decide for one final question.

"Do you know what company bought us up?" I ask. Roach's mouth presses into a thin line with his reluctance. Clearly, he's already told me too much, and doesn't want to do more damage.

"Oh c'mon, Roach," I cajole, somehow sounding like I'm playing around. "You know I won't say anything." I really don't know why I'm bothering – I already know the answer, no matter how badly I wish I were wrong. No, I _know. _But I have to hear him say it. Have to know that I'm not just going crazy.

And, sure enough, with one more hesitant pause, Roach answers me.

"Grey Enterprises Holdings." _Holy shit._


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Okay, so some of you were upset that Ana took the A3 in the last update. Please keep in mind that there's a reason for everything I write! Of course she had to take it! Leila has to trash it, remember? So whenever something happens that you don't like, just remind yourselves that it's always for a purpose! I have everything planned out!**

**Anyway, I have been waiting 22 chapters to write this! This is Mr. Grey's wakeup call, little ones! Hope you like!**

* * *

"Come on," I huff angrily at the windshield of the A3 as I glare at the red light. It seems like I've been caught by every fucking light I've passed since leaving SIP. But maybe it's just me. I don't know anymore. All I'm seeing is red anyway – as bright as the car I'm currently driving.

My chest heaves with fast, enraged breaths, and I have a death grip on the steering wheel in an attempt to make my hands stop shaking with the desire to hit something. Ever since I stormed out of work like some demented bat out of hell, the feeling just keeps getting worse and worse, irritated by having to make the drive before I can let it out.

If I weren't simply too angry to feel much else, I'd probably be shocked at myself – shocked at this level of emotion. I've only been this angry once before in my life and that was while I was living with my mom and Husband Number Three. Years ago.

Hell, I'm not even angry anymore. It has long since passed that mark. No, I'm furious. Livid. I'm apoplectic with rage. Everything inside me, down to the last fiber, is tremoring as if in preparation for battle. Because that's exactly what it's gunna be.

Finally, the light turns green and my foot immediately presses on the accelerator. Out of habit, I glance in the rearview, only to see the big black SUV still tailing me. The sight just ticks me off more, if that's even remotely possible. I grip the wheel harder, turning a corner and getting closer and closer to my destination – Grey House.

I clench my teeth, fighting off the urge to scream – to discharge all of this pent up emotion. Because I feel like I might explode any second like an atomic bomb, the pressure of it all too much to contain. But I don't scream or explode. Instead, I remind myself that I'll get my release soon enough – when I get to one _Mr. Grey's _office.

In my head, the scene is already playing out in a thousand different ways, each of which entails me going absolutely postal and unleashing my fury on the unsuspecting CEO as he sits up in that tower, thinking he's untouchable.

The angry fantasies make me feel somewhat better but do nothing to calm me down. _He bought the company I work for! _The thought still fills me with the biggest swell of unexplainable emotions, too many to name, but all of them bad.

_What. The. Hell? _

What is this? I shake my head, utter disbelief mingling with the fuming anger. _Who does something like this?! _

I knew Christian was…intense. Overbearing. Controlling. Domineering. Possessive. Sometimes irrational. But this? This is…beyond words. This is radical, even for him.

In his own words, I was aware that Christian is, in fact, fifty shades of fucked up…but this is… outrageous. Preposterous.

What kind of person buys a company because their ex works there? _Crazy people, _My subconscious whispers. I know she's right. Isn't this the kind of thing serial killers do?!

I've teased him about being a stalker before, and I was fully aware that he has refused to let me go since I left – to admit that I'm not his anymore. But now, I'm starting to see that it goes a lot further than just living in denial.

He bought the company I work for…but _why _is what I can't seem to grasp. Why the hell would he feel the need to own the whole damn place? Is it to watch me as closely as possible? To somehow use the possible advantages I could gain to bribe me? I think about the sudden promotion today – there's no doubt that was all his doing too. Or did he plan on threatening my job in order to force me to come back to him?

_Just another way to control you _my subconscious chimes in again. She's geared up in her best shrink gear – Black pants suit, stiletto heels, half-moon specs, while she's kicked back in her winged backed chair, big legal pad in hand to take notes. I shake my head, trying to concentrate on the road. She's right – mostly. There is one thing I disagree with her on.

This isn't just about control. This isn't controlling. Controlling was when he sold Wanda and forced me to take the A3 without any say from me. Controlling was when he tracked my phone just because I was drunk. _Controlling _was giving me a specific set of rules to define our relationship.

But buying SIP? That's not controlling – it's fucking _delusional! _It's obsessive. It's unstable!

What? Did he think I'd never find out? Or did he just not care? Would he have done this if we were still together? No, correction – if I were still his submissive? _Girlfriend _I want to scoff. _Yeah right. _Looking back, I know better now. In fact, I wonder how I could have been so stupid.

I've heard the saying "Girls give sex to get love. And guys give love to get sex." I know it's true. I just never thought I would be one of _those _girls. So desperate for the attention of a man, that she stooped that low. But I did – in the extreme. And now I know that he did the opposite. He never really cared about me – he just realized that making me feel like he cared was the only way to make me go along with it. That the promise of _more _was the key to controlling me.

I suppose if he had bought it anyway while I were still his submissive, he would just expect me to drop my eyes, nod my head, and say, "Yes, Sir," like a good little girl. But I'm not.

So maybe that's the reason – like some form of punishment for walking out on him. To just keep harassing and controlling me since I wouldn't let him voluntarily.

Suddenly, all the questions and speculation disappear as I pull into the parking lot of Grey House. The impressive building towers high into the clouds, looking just as imposing and daunting as the last time I was here.

But this time, I'm not intimidated at all by the sight. In fact, I feel like the sheer force of my ire could knock it over, sending every steel beam and glinting window plummeting.

I enter the parking garage, still being followed by Taylor, and quickly find the first empty parking spot. As soon as the car is in park, I grab the keys and throw myself out. Slamming the door, I storm like a category five hurricane toward the doors.

I extend my legs as far as they will go, lengthening my stride and moving as fast as I can without running like a maniac. I know security will never let me reach him if I make a spectacle of myself. So I do my damnedest to blend in as I bypass the first blond sitting at the main reception desk, headed for the elevators.

Finally, I get on, leaning against the back wall and crossing my arms. A few people get on and off on the way up, but I pay them no mind. The only thing that registers in my brain is the elevator doors sliding open on the top floor. Immediately, I'm already moving out, stomping straight for the reception desk with the second blond sitting behind it. Andrea.

I stop abruptly in front of her, regarding her with a stony expression as she glances up. Her eyes widen with surprise as she takes me in.

"Is Mr. Grey still in?" I snap, just to make sure.

"Uh – Yes, he is. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I answer nicely. "I wasn't aware I needed an appointment to make a delivery."

"Um – we aren't expecting anything. What are you delivering?" she asks, perplexed. I give her a tight-lipped smile. "A good ass kicking, apparently." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I'm already on the move again, propelling myself toward the office door and the man on the other side.

I barely hear Andrea as she calls after me – blathering about how I can't go back there, and all that bullshit. All my focus zeroes in on the door as I grab the knob and twist, flinging the obstacle out of my way and pushing myself inside.

I'm vaguely aware of the sense of deja-vu – everything still the same as when I was last here. The only thing that's not the same is the girl barging through the door – so irrevocably changed since I was here for that ill-fated interview.  
And the reason for the change is the same man who is yet again in front of me. The thought – that I'm no longer even the same person because of him – just makes me angrier as a pair of suddenly shocked gray eyes meets mine.

But neither of us get to say anything because Andrea suddenly comes darting into the room, flustered. "Mr. Grey. I'm so sorry," she pleads. "I couldn't stop her. I've already called security. I didn't know what else to do." It's clear she's afraid he'll blame her for my presence, but instead, he holds up his hand to stop her.

He keeps his eyes trained on mine as he says, "It's alright, Andrea. That's not necessary. Miss Steele has every right to be here. Go back to your desk and take all of my calls for now." Andrea hesitates for a second, her eyes flickering wildly between us before she nods and turns, shutting the door behind her.

As soon as we're alone, everything comes into sharp focus. I glare at him silently for a long moment, not even knowing where to start, afraid that if I open my mouth, it will all try to come out at once – then I really will explode.

My hands are clenched into fists at my side and my heart is pounding as my flight or fight instinct kicks in. And I definitely know which I'll be doing. Christian merely stares back with an impassive expression, his calm, collected mask in place so I can't read anything on his face as he just sits there, wearing a black suit and tie – looking like master of the universe.

When I don't say anything, he cocks his head to the side, threading his fingers together. "And to what do I owe this visit?" And that's it. That little question spoken with complete ease and nonchalance is what breaks the dam, opening the flood-gates.

I take two swift strides, then stop, not wanting to get too close. I'm so angry that I might do something rash.

I jab my index finger at him, my whole arm shaking violently. "_You_…," I huff, not able to think of a word bad enough. I see his eyes widen as he realizes just how angry I am. I take a deep breath and another step closer. "Who do you think you are?" I demand through gritted teeth, working not to yell.

This time, Christian's forehead creases with real concern, and he moves very slowly as he rises from his chair to stand. "Anastasia," he says very carefully. "What are you talking about?"

"Like you don't know," I spit.

His face becomes even more confused. "No, I don't. But if you would be so kind and enlighten me as to what has you upset, then maybe I can help you."

"Upset?" I scoff, taking another step forward. "Trust me, Grey. _Upset _doesn't even _begin _to describe what I am right now."

"What's wrong?" he demands, running a hand through his hair. I don't answer him. Instead, I start taking slow, deliberate steps toward where he stands behind his desk.  
"You know," I say, using an exaggerated conversational tone, changing direction suddenly. "Jack was fired." I watch as Christian's face turns to stone, showing nothing. I go on using a sickly-sweet voice. "And if that news wasn't surprising enough when I got to work this morning, imagine how shocking it was when I was given his job."

I keep stalking forward as Christian watches me with that same, unmoving expression. "I spent all morning trying to figure out how the hell something like that could have happened – just over 12 hours after I was assaulted by the man. I mean," I shrug nonchalantly. "no one knew. I hadn't told anybody what happened."

I come to a stop in front of him, only the desk separating us now as I fix him with an accusatory glare. "So tell me, Christian," I say politely, cocking my head to the side. "How does that happen? Really quite the co-ink-a-dink, huh?" Christian's jaw clenches, and he stands just a bit taller, bracing himself.

"Maybe you should talk to your boss about it," he suggests gruffly, his eyes looking like smoky ice cubes. _So that's the game, huh? Evasion? Not this time._

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say, raising my voice as I bring my hands down hard on the desk, leaning across it. "I THOUGHT I WAS!"

And just like that, I finally get the satisfaction of watching the mask crumble, his control slipping as surprise flashes across his face, eyes widening. _And there it is…_I give him a knowing smile full of contempt. "Because that's what you are, aren't you?" I point out, shrugging my shoulders. My voice drops to a whisper as I add, "My boss."

One of his hands suddenly flies out in front of him, his face guarded as he moves on the defensive now. "Anastasia…"

"NO!" I shout, making him jump and cutting him off. I straighten from the desk and start pointing a shaking finger at him again. "Don't you _dare _"Anastasia" me! Don't you even _think _about trying to excuse your way out of this."

"You don't understand," he interjects, his voice rising with mine.

"Don't understand?" I spit, seething. "What is there to understand other than that you've completely crossed the line?! That you're an absolute nutcase who will stop at nothing to control me?!"

He says nothing as I pause, sucking in a few heaving breaths – I'm guessing because he has no argument. "Why?" I snap. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes still glacially cold as they regard me. "You don't understand," he repeats.

"THEN EXPLAIN IT TO ME!" I shout, throwing my hands up. "Seriously, Christian, Why?! I want to know!"

"I have to know you're safe," he suddenly explodes, staggering a step forward, his face finally lighting with emotion.

"Safe?" I repeat sarcastically. "You bought the company I work for to keep me safe?" He nods once, eyes hard. I gape at him, not comprehending.

"Well, you're right," I say. "I don't understand. But I never did understand you in the first place anyway, and I don't believe I ever will, so I suppose it doesn't matter much."

His eyes flash just as something else occurs to me. I cross my arms. "And what about the check? Twenty-four thousand dollars, Christian? What is that about?"

He blinks at me, surprised at the change of direction. "That's what Taylor got for your car."

I roll my eyes. "How stupid do you think I am?"

His chin lifts slightly and his eyes gleam dangerously. "I'm a lot of things, Anastasia. A liar isn't one of them. I'm telling you – that's what it sold for. Apparently it was some sort of collectible and someone really wanted it. If you don't believe me, ask Taylor yourself."

_Just as I expected…_my assumption at lunch today was correct – that confronting him about the money would do no good. We're getting nowhere, and by his expression, nothing I say will budge that. But the mention of Taylor brings me to another issue.

"Speaking of Taylor," I say. "Why has he been following me all day?"

Christian sighs, looking down and sounding weary all of a sudden as he runs his hand through his hair again. When he glances back up, he looks ten years older. "Taylor's been following you for two weeks now, Anastasia. Today's just the first day it was obvious to you. It's how I knew what happened with Hyde."

I stare at him, mouth agape. _And here I thought this couldn't get worse. _"What?" I demand, staggering a step backward as if he's just pushed me. _Taylor's been following me this whole time?!_

"Like I said – I have to know you're safe."

I suck in a breath, feeling…outraged. And above all…violated. Horribly so.

"Safe from what?!" I shout suddenly, on the warpath now. "Because from where I'm standing, _you're _the only thing I need protecting from! You're the only ex-boyfriend. Dominant – whatever the hell you were – who is apparently trying to find every way humanly possible to keep me trapped in his twisted mind games!"

"It's not a game," he retorts ardently.

"Oh it's not?" I ask sarcastically. "_Sir?_"

His eyes narrow into slits, and he takes a step to the side, slowly moving around the desk. I automatically take a step backward, not out of fear, but a desire to keep distance between us because my anger still has me on the verge of violence.

"This is really quite the display. Even for you," he mutters darkly, watching me, and still stalking forward.

I bark out one hard laugh, incredulous. "Well," I mock. "I'm glad I can entertain you."

He takes another step forward. I take another one back. "I don't think anyone's ever been this mad at me before. Not even my mother."

_Yeah right. _"Oh I'm sure there have been plenty others. They're just too fucking scared of you to do anything about it." Suddenly, I realize the contradiction between my words and actions, and I stop moving backwards, standing my ground as I watch Christian continue to move toward me.

He nods. "Touché."

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" I challenge, the distance between us getting smaller and smaller…

"I can't." Another step…

"Yes. You. Can," I insist.

"No," he disagrees. "I can't."

"Why me?" I whisper. "You could have any little brunette you want. What? I wouldn't let you torture me physically. So now, you're making up for it by torturing me emotionally?"

This stops him in his tracks, his lips parting as his mouth drops open and his eyes pop wide. "No," he says, shaking his head. "I just told you – I want you safe." Then, being mercurial as ever, the expression changes completely – becoming accusatory. "Because you apparently are hell-bent on being anything but."

"What are you talking about?!"

"Motorcycles, Ana?!" he demands. "Do you know how many accident victims my mom has had to patch up because of those things? How many she's watched die?" I'm about to open my mouth to argue, but he keeps going, cutting me off. His voice rises with every word. "And New York? You were going to go away with that…that…_sleezeball_? Do you not have any self-preservation at all?"

My eyebrows move half-way up my forehead, and my mouth hangs open. "So it's my fault I was attacked?!" I yell, the bump on my head pounding as a reminder.

"No, but if it weren't for me, it could have been a lot worse!"

Something clicks suddenly, something I had somehow missed. "You cancelled the trip to New York, didn't' you?"

"Of course I did," he snaps back. "You've no idea the track record Hyde has with his PAs. I wasn't about to sit back and let that happen to you."

I want to argue – to find fault with this interference too, but I can't. I'm too relieved that I never went with Jack on that trip.

"And if all that isn't enough," he continues angrily. "You seem determined to starve yourself to death first." He gestures at me wildly, taking a step closer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say derisively. "I was too busy crying for ten fucking days to eat."

Again, his face falters, taking on that shocked, appalled expression. "No," he mutters, sounding like he's talking to himself. Suddenly, he steps again, a hand rising and reaching for me. I take a step away. "Don't even think about it," I warn. "Lay one finger on me, and I will break it."

Immediately his hand drops to his side, and his eyes cool as he reigns in his composure. "So this is how it is then?" he asks tersely.

My eyes flash, my teeth grinding momentarily. "It doesn't have to be, if you would stop being so…so…," I flounder, looking for the right word. "You."

His lips twitch on one side, but not from real amusement, more like irony. "Do you think I like this?" I ask indignantly, reading his expression. "Do you think I like sounding like a screeching shrew, standing here bitching at you? NO! I don't! In fact, I hate it! I hate everything about this!" I gesture animatedly around me. "But I don't see any other way to get my point across. I've tried talking to you, but you never listen. So maybe if I scream it loud enough, you'll finally get my message through your thick skull!"

His head goes to one side, one eyebrow lifting. "And what exactly _is _the message?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" I shout. "We're done. Through. OVER. So stop meddling in everything I do, and just. BUTT. OUT!"

"I can't do that," he says firmly, nose flaring.

"Yes you can," I say, desperately trying to get my point across. "You told me once that if I left, that would be it – that we would be finished. What happened to that?"

He shakes his head, his thick brows coming together in consternation. "It's complicated."

"Well, uncomplicate it, Christian. Because all you're doing is stringing us both along. And I can't take it anymore! I'll never get on with my life if you keep doing this. Go find another little brown-haired girl you can beat the shit out of, and leave me out of it. MOVE ON!"

"Move on? You think it's just that simple? To just go on and pretend like nothing ever happened? And you're one to talk – obviously you haven't done so either. Or you wouldn't be here right now."  
"At least I'm trying," I snarl. "But you won't let me."

Suddenly, I watch as something flashes across his face – a look of realization mixed with suspicion. His jaw flexes and his mouth flattens into a thin line. "This is about him, isn't it?"

I stare at him, muddled. "WHO?" I shout, not in the mood to put up with his ever changing moods.

"Fucking Cavanaugh," he snarls viciously.

I blink, taken aback. _Oh no. I'm SO not ready to talk about this. _"What does Ethan have to do with anything?!"

"Don't play dumb, Anastasia – it really doesn't suit you. Is there something going on with him or not?"

I shake my head – not in denial, but in defiance. I turn on my heel suddenly, striding away a few steps before turning back around. "What does or doesn't _go on _in my life, isn't any of your concern," I retort, very obviously avoiding the question.

His eyes narrow yet again and he strides after me, bringing us closer once more. "Dammit, Anastasia. Just answer the fucking question," he bites. "What is he to you?"

That's one question I can answer with no problem. "A friend," I say. "A very _good _friend."

He stares at me with skepticism, saying nothing – just continues to look at me. I huff out in exasperation, shaking my head up at him before turning yet again and striding toward the door, so ready to be done with this.

"I don't like him living with you."

"And why is that? Is Ethan somehow threatening my safety now too?" I retort, spinning back around, but by the door now.

"Considering that he's putting you on the back of a motorcycle – then yes. I would say he is." He takes a couple steps forward.

"_He's_ never hit me!"

Christian's whole body stiffens, his face hardening visibly. "That's a low blow, Anastasia."

"But true nonetheless."

He takes two more aggressive strides toward me. "Do you want him?" he demands. I put my hand on the doorknob, my eyes dropping from his. I say nothing – not knowing what to say. On one hand, I have nothing to prove to him – I owe him no explanation about anything concerning Ethan. But on the other hand, I've never been much of a liar, and I'm not sure yet whether 'yes' or 'no' would be the truth. Everything is still so confusing.

I glance back up at Christian, my mouth flattening as I press my lips together. He blinks, taking in my expression. The blood drains from his face slightly, and his lips part with surprise.

"You do, don't you?" he asks, voice dropping to not much more than a whisper, horror clear in his tone. This time, I speak, offering him the most honest answer I can.

"I don't know what I want anymore," I bite out. His eyes widen with alarm, and he swallows hard – his whole face becoming ashen.

"Have you slept with him?" The question is barely even audible as it tumbles passed his panicked lips.

_Oh, Ana. Don't do it. _My subconscious pleads desperately, tossing the legal pad behind her, getting down on her knee in supplication. My thoughts flicker to last night – lying in Ethan's arms, dozing off to the steady beat of his heart under my ear…of _sleeping _with him…

I know I should heed my subconscious' advice this time. But after everything that's happened – after all the interference I've had to deal with from this man, I dismiss her. Then I think that maybe this is the only thing that will get through to him. After all, sex is the only thing Christian seems to understand at all.

I know it's childish. I really do. But right now, as I consider all the havoc this man has reeked on my heart – all the games, all the worry and anxiety – I suddenly couldn't care less as I grip the knob, turning it.

"Yeah," I huff, nodding. "I have." Christian looks like I've just told him he has twenty-four hours to live, his mouth dropping open and anguish clouding his eyes. But I don't stop to take inventory of the damage I've just inflicted. Instead, I jerk the door open, giving one last glance over my shoulder as I turn.

"Oh, and in case you didn't the memo, Mr. Grey," I say, putting myself in the doorway. "I QUIT!" I shout, slamming the door closed and storming off the way I came.

**A/N: God, that was fun to write! I hope you don't think the end was too much. After all, Ana's right – all Christian understands is sex. Don't worry – they'll straighten it out eventually though. Review and give me thoughts!**


	23. Chapter 23

I stare at the red Audi in the parking garage, taking deep, measured breaths. I squeeze the keys in my hand, the serrated edges digging into my palm, deliberating. After that whole shitstorm, I simply want to go home, bury my face in a pillow and scream until my lungs shrivel up. But how do I get there?

I really don't want to take the Audi – in fact, I want to toss the keys inside and leave it. But then what? The only other options are Taylor and Ethan. And apparently, Taylor's been making every step I have in the last two weeks, so I really don't want to ask him to take me anywhere.

And the only thing I'd rather do less than that is call and ask Ethan to come and get me. I really don't want to freak him out by calling, sounding damn near hysterical, asking for a ride. Ethan worrying about me is the last thing I want. In fact, I need the extra time getting home to collect myself so that I can act at least half-way normal once I get there. There's so much I want to tell him – so much I need to vent about – but unless I calm down about fifty notches, I won't be able to do that without a nervous breakdown.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, glancing over where the black Audi sits across the aisle. I chew on my lip momentarily before finally just flinging open the A3's door and tossing myself inside.

I take my time going home, circling around the block uselessly, as I feel myself calming down. I've gotten to finally speak my mind, so maybe now things will start working themselves out. At the very least, I no longer see Taylor in the rearview driving the SUV and following me.

Finally, I notice the time on the dash, and know Ethan will be wondering where I am by now. So, I decide that I've calmed down enough, and eventually park the Audi outside of the condo building.

Grabbing my purse and throwing it over my shoulder, I hit the lock on the little remote on the keychain, still looking at the car with disdain. This is, no doubt the last time I'll be using it. I'm home – it's here – and that's where it will stay until Mr. Grey decides to do something with it. From now on, I don't care what I have to do to commute back and forth – I'll walk before I drive that damn thing somewhere.

I toss the car keys in my purse and exchange them for the apartment keys. Ethan had a copy made the other day, so he gave me back the main set. Begrudgingly, I trudge up the walkway, pushing through the lobby door and through the building before reaching our door.

_Home sweet home _I think ruefully, finally stepping inside. I scan the room in front of me, no sign of Ethan. I saw the Ducati parked in its usual spot outside, so he must be in the shower or something. Having a moment alone, I lean heavily against the back of the door, tilting my head back and closing my eyes.

This has to be the _longest _day in history. Just last night, I was busy being assaulted by my boss. Then, this morning, I go to work, expecting the worst – but end up having my said boss' job handed to me on a freaking silver platter! I spend all morning trying to learn the ropes enough in order to do my new job. And as soon as I'm about to blow my brains out, I get finally get a lunch break – during which I learn my filthy rich ex has gifted me with an absurd amount of money under the guise of selling my old clunker of a car. So, I return to work, going back to having the pressures of an all-new job which I have no experience with. Then, the end of the day comes…and I get the news of a lifetime. That the same ex is now my boss, no matter how many times over. I rush across town, and proceed to have the biggest knock down, drag out argument of my _life_ – which I really don't even think solved anything. I still didn't get any straight answers from him. Just the "keep me safe" garbage. The only satisfying thing about the whole ordeal was getting to scream a little.

I recall the last part of our conversation – if you can really call it that. Suddenly, all I can see is Christian's face when I said I had slept with Ethan. The pained expression on his all-too-handsome features. I'm still way too irritated – the anger still too fresh – to regret what I said, and what I led him to believe. But somehow, in the deepest part of my mind, I somehow sense that the memory of his face – so dejected and agonized – will come back to haunt me later, when my too-strong conscience decides to come back to me.

"Ana?"

My eyes snap open with the sound of my name being spoken in front of me. Immediately, I see that I was right – Ethan really was in the shower. He's standing in the middle of the room, sandy hair wet and sticking in every direction. He's shirtless again like he was this morning, but this time, I'm way too preoccupied to think about ogling.

"Hey," I sigh, pushing away from the door.

"Where've you been? I've been trying to call you. I was getting worried." He eyes me with concern as I move into the apartment.

"Oh. Sorry. I must've left it in the car earlier."

I move toward the kitchen, dropping my purse on the island counter. "Car?" he asks, coming to join me.

I glance up, just remembering that Ethan doesn't know about the A3 at all. Never knew Christian had loaned me a car period.

I sigh, letting out a sound that's like a half-laugh, half-cry as I drag a hand down my face. I fix him with a dramatic expression. "It's a _loooong _story."

Ethan gives me a sympathetic look, suddenly taking my hand and pulling me to the living room and sitting me down beside him on the sofa.

"Why don't you just start at the beginning," he offers softly. I look up at him, and he gives me a small smile of encouragement and a nod. _Well _I decide, _Here it goes. _I suck in a deep breath, and take his advice – starting at the beginning as I launch into my epic tale.

By the time I'm finished with everything, Ethan's hair is almost fully dry and I feel officially talked out. It probably wouldn't have taken so long if I hadn't gotten so riled up while recounting my argument in Christian's office – obviously editing a few things due to technicalities and omitting where I told Christian we had slept together. At least this time, I had Ethan around to calm me back down.

But other than the few relaxing words he muttered here and there when he saw me turning red in the face, Ethan has barely said anything – just sat there, nodding and humming. Listening.

"Then I came back here," I finish, sucking in and filling my deflated lungs. I slump into the couch cushions, looking up at Ethan who is merely still watching me intently. He's sitting beside me, one knee pulled up with his body turned in my direction, his elbow resting on the back of the sofa as he leans his head on his hand. The other hand is resting lightly on my knee – having moved there to rub reassuringly during my mini-rant about Christian.

"Well?" I prompt, when he still says nothing. His lips quirk, looking like he's fighting a smile.

"You were right," he says simply.

"About what?" I demand lightly, not knowing which part he's talking about.

"That is a long story." His whole face stretches into a wide grin now. My mouth falls open playfully, and I swat his bare arm. "That's it? I basically just told you my life's story, and that's the only thing you have to say?"

He shrugs, and I actually laugh, proving that as always – Ethan succeeds better than anything to brighten my mood, no matter how shitty. After everything that has gone down today, he actually gets me to laugh without even trying. I thank my lucky stars – or whatever is responsible – for this man.

His smile dims to one of understanding, and the moment becomes more serious. "No. You know I'm playing around," he says. Then, "I think you handled everything perfectly."

"Really?"

He nods. "I wouldn't have done it any differently. I mean, I still hate you lost your job. But at least it was of your own free choice instead of necessity. I don't blame you for not wanting to work there anymore. I completely agree with you – that's just plain psycho for your ex to buy up your company." And because he's Ethan, he leans forward with a twinkle in his eyes. "And trust me – I would know."

I burst with more laughter, grasping his silly quip. "_Doctor _Cavanaugh reporting for duty?" I raise an eyebrow. He grins broadly.

"You're gunna be an amazing shrink, Ethan. I've never met anybody who just sits and listens like you do." He shrugs lightly, but I can see he's pleased by my praise.

"I just want to help people out, ya know. Most of our problems are in our minds. Imaginary. A lot of people aren't happy simply because they hold onto unnecessary stuff, worrying about things which don't really matter in the long run."

I blink at him, intrigued by this little sweet piece of information, giving away what I already knew – Ethan _cares_. And not just about me. About everybody. He's genuine and considerate. A rare find these days.

But the moment soon fades away, and Ethan suddenly leans forward, a gleam in his hazel eyes. "And as a medical professional in training…," he begins, laughter in his voice. "I think I know just what you need." He leans farther in, putting some of his weight on the hand at my knee. I instinctively incline toward him as well, bringing our faces within two inches.

I cock an eyebrow at him knowingly. "And what's that?"

He smiles, lowering his face some more. I tilt my chin, inviting him in. Closing the small space between us, his lips just barely brush mine, teasing me.

"You better go get ready," he breathes against my lips. "We're going out tonight." And just like that, he abruptly pulls back, eyes twinkling with delight.

"Out?"

"Yep. It's Friday night. And after the day you've had, you need to let loose. So I'm thinking loud music, strobe lights, and shots of something with a bite." He grins.

"Just what the doctor ordered, huh?" I crack, snickering. He chuckles, running a hand through his wild hair.

"Exactly. Plus, we're running out of time to do anything of the sort. Kate called today – sounds like the love birds are flying in to nest Monday," he tells me.

"Really?" I ask, surprised by the news. He nods.

"So get a move on. I'll take you for something to eat, then we're hitting the town like a couple of superstars tonight, Steele."

** A/N: Oooh…God, I'm having so much fun with this!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Okay, so while I was rereading some of FSoG, I realized I've been writing Cavanaugh with a C instead of how it should be – Kavanaugh with a K. So sorry for the technical error! It'll be correct from here on out! Lol **

* * *

"Bottoms up!" Ethan hollers over the pulsing music, clinking his shot glass against mine. We both proceed to toss our heads back, gulping down the shot of whiskey. Not really my drink, but Ethan insisted I have at least one shot, saying that it was the ultimate stress eliminator. And I'm starting to believe it.

We slam the little glasses back down on the bar in unison. I swallow hard, not able to keep from making a face at the taste. It's not unpleasant – in fact, it's growing on me – it's just stronger than I'm used to.

"Whooo!" Ethan howls, but the loud noise barely reaches my ears, drowned out by the pumping bass line thumping through the club. I grin in response to the jolly look on his face, and glance around myself.

It's still decently early in the night, so the biggest part of the crowd hasn't come out yet. Still, it's pretty full – apparently this is a pretty popular place on the night scene of Seattle. People are swarming the bar, and even more are clustered on the dance floor. Everywhere I look, bodies are moving in time with the music – people of all walks of life just all gathered together, moving in unison as they pay no attention to any one around them except for friends or couples.

I glance back at Ethan, leaning way over to him so he can hear me. "Okay – I admit it – you really know how to pick 'em, Ethan."

He smiles knowingly. "Told you that you would like it," he yells back, his face suddenly cast in blood red light as the strobe changes again.

When the cab first dropped us off, and Ethan had led me here after taking me to a delicious dinner, I had my doubts. I've never been in a nightclub – just a couple bars that Kate dragged me to after I turned 21 last year. Hell, the night I drunk dialed Christian was the only time I've ever been truly intoxicated. I swore I'd never repeat the horrible experience, but I can tell I'm fully on my way. And I don't care. Ethan was right – this is perfect after the day I've had.

I pick up my martini, sipping on it gingerly, and shifting on the precariously high stool, crossing my legs carefully – I don't want to flash anybody. Which would be pretty damn easy in this dress.

After Ethan told me to go get ready, I grabbed a shower and decided to raid Kate's closet. It took me damn near 20 minutes (I couldn't choose because of the plethora of options) but I finally decided on my current outfit. A classic little black dress. Every girl's go-to during times like this, according to Kate. And this is most certainly a _little _black dress. It's a thin, silky number with a scoop that reaches the small of my back, and is only held together by a few thin straps which criss-cross over my shoulder blades – all the while being low on the chest and high on the thigh. It's extremely sexy, but not so over the top that it's slutty – Kate would never allow such in her closet if it were.

But I agonized over the decision, staring in the mirror while turning this way and that to get every angle. All the while, my inner goddess had come out of hiding again to beg me to wear it.

Finally though, I decided _what the hell? _If there's one thing I've learned today – it's that I'm not the same person anymore. The old Anastasia – the one who hid in her books and was blissfully unaware of things like collars and playrooms – would have taken one look at this dress and ran. Hell, she would have never even left the apartment, knowing the destination was a club.

But this Anastasia – me. Well, she's done and said a lot of things that the old one wouldn't. So why shouldn't she – I – throw on a sexier-than-normal dress? Why shouldn't I get all gussied up for a night out on the town? Why shouldn't I toss back some whiskey and not worry about how drunk I get after a day like today?

Why shouldn't I embrace the changes I've gone through? What's wrong with that? We all change at some point. My changes have just been sudden and brought on by being thrown into a reality which I didn't know existed. Okay, well maybe I wasn't thrown into it – I more like ran straight for it.

But it doesn't matter now. It happened – and now, I'm a different girl because of it. Stronger. Better. More sure of myself, both physically and mentally. A small smirk of pleasure curves my lips as I realize this. _Real Steele, baby! _Steel that has been heated, literally beaten, and now cooling off to end up stronger and more refined…

Today proved it. The old Anastasia would have _never _dared confront anyone – let alone Christian Grey – like that. She would have just gotten mad, then sat around fantasizing about the things she would have said. But she never would have.

I guess the saying "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" really is true after all. So, once I considered this back at the apartment, I didn't just keep the dress on – I went a step further and paired it with a pair of tall, thin stilettos . In Kate's lingo – "Fuck me" heels.

Topped off with black liner around my blue eyes, mascara, and hair tossed and teased until it fanned out wildly – I'm the epitome of a party girl. Well, I look the part anyway. I may have changed over the past month, but I'm not so far gone to even think I'm some sort of wild child now.

The icing on the cake was watching Ethan's eyes pop out of his head when I came out of Kate's room, announcing I was ready to go. I smile just thinking about it as I glance over at him – sitting beside me, looking devilishly handsome himself.

He's wearing a pair of black, worn-out-looking jeans and a white button down dress shirt which is rolled up to his elbows and completely unbuttoned to show the baby blue t-shirt underneath – finished off with a pair of classic Chuck Taylors. His hair is softly ruffled, and his only accessories are the linked stainless steel chain around his neck and the simple black, braided nylon bracelet tied loosely around his right wrist. And of course, his trademark, uneven smile which he flashes me with when he catches me staring at him.

I blush and drop my gaze, taking a nice long sip of my martini. He leans over to me so I can hear him when he asks, "So you ready to hit the dance floor yet?" He jerks his head to motion behind us where the sea of people are all teeming about, some more gracefully than others.

I shake my head and raise my glass a couple inches. "Don't think I'm near drunk enough for that, yet." His smile turns devious, and his eyes light up as he sets down his beer bottle. Suddenly, he slides out of his seat and stands beside mine, holding his hand out to me.

I stare at it, then glance toward the middle of the huge room where everybody moves to the beat. I shake my head again, this time more vigorously. "Oh no."

"C'mon, Steele," he drawls loudly over the music. "It's time to for you shake that grove thang."

"You've never seen me dance," I interject. He gestures around us. "So? Look around, Ana. No one's gunna be paying attention to your dancing skills here."

"You will!"

He shrugs. "And what's the problem? You know I don't care." I frown, eyeing him. I know he's being honest – he more than likely wouldn't care if I got out there and started doing the running man. Not that I can actually _do_ the running man. But that doesn't mean I want to test the theory. I shake my head once more, staying rooted in my seat.

He shrugs again. "Fine, I'll just have to dance by myself then." And I watch as he turns and takes a couple long strides away, before turning back to face me once more.

He takes slow, deliberate steps backward, still moving away from me. The strobe flickers insanely now with the song blasting through the speakers, but I can still see him just fine. He's smirking slyly and his eyes hold a look of challenge – silently daring me – as his chin lifts. _Chicken _he mouths at me, taking another step back toward the floor.

And that's it. One thing that hasn't changed about me – I don't like being underestimated or backing down from a challenge. _And what the hell? Why shouldn't I cut loose and bust a move – even if I do look ridiculous doing it. _Truth is, I can't say I'm a bad dancer. Because I really don't know. I've never really done much dancing – and certainly not like this. And there's only one way to find out.

So I narrow my eyes at him, quickly gulp down the rest of my martini in one big swallow, and very carefully slide from the stool, watching my heels. I look back at Ethan as he grins triumphantly at me, holding out his hand as I take the few steps necessary to reach him.

I take his hand and walk close behind him as we move slowly through the crowd. But the further we get, the denser it gets. So Ethan pauses and pulls me to him, putting his arms around my waist and moving us in unison as we weave in and out of people.

Finally, we reach the heart of the club, the center of the dance floor. It's the most populated area, forcing us closer together as Ethan brings us to a stop, turning to face me. I gulp, suddenly nervous. I was right – I'm nowhere near drunk enough for this. Ethan grins down at me, and I can't help but return it shyly, despite myself.

A fast, bouncy techno beat with a pounding bass line is playing, providing everybody with a pretty basic rhythm to move to. I swallow, feeling unbearably self-conscious as I glance at everyone around me. They all make it look so easy – effortless. I just can't imagine being able to move with any sliver of grace to match. Where do I even start?

Luckily, I don't have to because Ethan takes the lead. He keeps his easy smile on his face as he slowly starts to move, rolling his shoulders and bobbing with the quick beat.

Suddenly he steps to my left, moving faster as he gets into it, finding his stride and settling into it with ease. When I still don't move, he slides around me, arriving at my right side and holding out his hands.

"Come on," he shouts. "Don't be shy." I sigh, taking both his hands hesitantly. He smiles and nods encouragingly. _Go on! Show him what you got! _My inner goddess shouts impatiently as she shows off her own skill – except her dancing involves a lot less clothing and a pole…

I take a deep breath, letting it fill me with confidence. This is new Anastasia, remember? _Well, here goes nothing…_

With that, I grip Ethan's hands a little firmer, and start moving, taking my cues from him. The song is fun and upbeat, and not hard to form a dance around. So I do. I bend my knees, bouncing up and down subtly. After a few long seconds, I start moving my hips, swaying. Ethan nods his head in approval and flashes me another huge grin. Gaining confidence, I throw my shoulders into the mix, and bob my head with the bass, a smile spreading across my face as I realize that this isn't half-bad. In fact, it's quite fun.

Ethan takes our joined hands, and raises them until they're level with his ears, bringing us closer together as we move. He leans in. "You're doing great!" he yells. I grin goofily up at him.

Less than a minute later, and I've officially found my groove, moving without hesitance or shame. Just fun. I even toss my hair around a little bit, and bend my knees more as I swing my hips more dramatically. Eventually, Ethan releases my hands. When he does, I merely lift them higher, extending my arms all the way above my head.

Ethan dances all the way around me, clearly enjoying himself as much as I am. When he's in front of me again, he suddenly takes his hands, makes two fists in front of his chest, and starts popping them out rapidly in front of each pec, doing the cheesiest move ever. I belt out a huge belly laugh but it's lost in the music.

Ethan drops his hands, grinning unabashedly as he dances right up to me, bringing his mouth to my ear. "See?" he shouts. "It's alright if we look a little silly. Not that you do. You're a natural." My face splits with a smile as he moves back, continuing to dance in a more normal style.

I don't know how long we keep it up, dancing as if it were just the two of us. But eventually, the song comes to a close, fading and morphing into the next one. I pause, listening for a moment. The new beat comes through the speakers much slower, deeper. Sensual, even. As if to prove this point, it seems like everybody surrounding us presses just a little closer, more intimately.

I glance back at Ethan. Our eyes lock, and the atmosphere around us mixes with the slow, pulsating tempo and suddenly becomes charged, electrified. My lips part with surprise, taken aback by the sudden change. I think maybe it's just my imagination, but then I see Ethan's eye widen as his throat moves with a hard swallow.

He blinks, then leans down at my ear again. His breath tickles as he asks, "Do you want to go sit down?"

My eyes flicker back to his as he pulls away once more, waiting for my answer. All of a sudden, a woman's angelic-sounding voice starts singing along with the music, adding to its already-heady quality. I shake my head at Ethan. No, I don't want to sit down. I want to dance to whatever heavenly song this is.

He nods twice, extending his hands out to me once more. I keep my eyes on his as I slowly reach out and take them. The tension becomes thicker when our skin meets, almost like I can taste it in the air around us.

Again, Ethan is the first to start moving, slowly this time as he works his way into the music. I don't take long to follow behind, the movement starting in my hips before working its way everywhere else. It takes about twenty seconds for our bodies to learn the rhythm provided by the hypnotic cadence of the song, moving in sync with one another.

Once we hit our stride, Ethan moves our hands, bringing them up like he did in the last song. But this time, he pulls forward, bringing us closer as he leads my hands, still locked in his, around his neck. Now, our fronts are brushing together with every other movement. He keeps his eyes trained on mine, keeping our hands behind his neck. When he's sure I'm not going to move them from there, he lets go. But he doesn't drop his hands. Instead, his fingertips make the trek back around slowly – his fingertips gliding over my skin, starting with my wrists. We continue to move, and he continues to take his time as his fingers trail softly onto my forearm, never once leaving my skin. He uses feather-light pressure. Even when he reaches the gruesome bruise, I don't feel a bit of pain.

Eventually, his hands come to my bare shoulders, pausing only a moment before dropping down and moving around my waist. His arms encircle me, bringing me closer as his flat palms rest on my lower back where the scoop in the dress ends – on my bare skin.

With no more room separating us, Ethan ducks his head, bringing his face level with my temple as I nudge mine into the space between his jaw and neck. This dancing is different – a clear distinction between dancing _next to_ somebody, and dancing _with_ somebody. Different…Better.

Ethan sways with me, his fingers moving ever so slightly against the skin on my back – the sensation suddenly gratifying, filling me with hedonistic energy. The music, the alcohol, and more importantly, the man whose arms are around me as we move in sync – it all mixes together, abruptly becoming just as intoxicating as one of those whiskey shots.

With an unexpected wave of confidence, I swiftly take my arms from around Ethan's neck, whirling around in the opposite direction in time with the music. I lean back, pressing against Ethan again – this time my back to his front.

I feel him freeze with surprise for just a nanosecond before he follows along with my lead, placing his hands on my hips. I close my eyes, bringing my hands up, and moving them backward until they're resting behind his neck once more.

I can feel Ethan's hips swaying against me – right over my backside. It's not exaggerated, or sexual – just normal, still-innocent dancing. _Kick things up a notch _my inner goddess urges, jumping up and down with excitement.

I take a deep breath, gathering my nerve. Then, I very deliberately circle my hips, pushing back against Ethan. Immediately, I feel his hands tighten where they rest, but whether it's in restraint or something else, I'm not sure. Emboldened, I do it again, harder this time while I bend my knees so that I slide down his body a few inches and back again as I straighten them.

Again, his hands tighten on my hips, and suddenly, he drops his face lower until it's hovering over my bare shoulder. I feel his breath there for just an instant before it's replaced by his lips as they press lightly on the very top of my shoulder.

I gasp, half in surprise and half in pleasure from the contact. His lips leave my skin, but he keeps his face there as I incline my head backward, resting it in the crook where his neck meets his clavicle.

I close my eyes just in time to feel another kiss, an inch closer to my neck this time. In response, I circle my hips again, wiggling my back against his chest and stomach. He lifts his lips again, and I feel another, harder gust of hot breath hit my shoulder.

Suddenly, a long-forgotten feeling resurfaces. Standing here, dancing with Ethan's arms around me – feeling his lips on my shoulder – I feel desirable again. I feel…wanted.

The revelation is satisfying on so many levels. Confidence blooms through me as I suddenly feel powerful. Sexy. I feel like a true woman again.

So, I use it.

I lean further into Ethan, turning my head so I can plant a soft kiss on his jaw just before he reciprocates on my shoulder. When he pulls his lips away, his eyes flicker up, locking with mine. The strobe light changes to bright blue, lighting his green eyes in the most lustrous way and illuminating the look in them. For once, there's no trace of laughter or amusement. Just smoldering intensity.

I stare back, mesmerized for a long moment before leaning my head back against him again and closing my eyes altogether, melting into him and letting go. My arms slide down from Ethan's neck at the same time his snake further around me. I rest my hands right over his as the music keeps pulsating and we continue to move together.

I'm not sure how much time passes – techno songs are always longer than normal songs – but the same one is playing when I feel a sudden, jarring change in the air around me. Ethan and I are still moving to and fro together when it first hits me. Electricity.

Right away, I know what it is. There's no question. I don't even have to open my eyes and look to know that he's here.

But as soon as the charge registers with me, bringing his presence to my attention, I feel a hand close around my upper arm just before I'm yanked forward by the same grip. My eyes fly open, shocked despite the split second warning. Immediately, I'm pulled from Ethan's grasp behind me, stumbling forward only to smack into another hold in front of me.

First, my gaze lands on the sight of the wide, familiar hand wrapped tightly around my bicep before my eyes travel upward, following up the wrist and arm of who it belongs to. Eventually, they reach his face, staring at him in dazed surprise.

But Christian doesn't look at me. He's too busy glaring hatefully over my shoulder – at Ethan.

_Well, this odda be interesting._

**A/N: Fire up those keyboards! Review, review, review!**


	25. Chapter 25

I gawk like the tipsy moron I am up at Christian for a long moment before the gears start turning yet again in my brain, bringing me back to reason. My head snaps around to follow Christian's gaze to Ethan.

The action is quick enough for me to see Ethan's dimly-lit face changing from surprise, his expression hardening and becoming almost angry-looking as his eyes move from me to Christian. Under any other circumstances, the sight would take me off guard – I've never seen Ethan even get irritated before. It's odd.

But I don't dwell on the fleeting thought, my head snapping back to Christian as I'm reminded that I'm still pressed against him. Well, _held _against him is more accurate, courtesy of his fettering hand on my arm.

Realizing my proximity, I step backward, roughly yanking my arm out of his grasp and forcing him to release me. He lets me pull away, but he still doesn't look at me, keeping his eyes trained on Ethan.

The saying _If looks could kill _bounces around in my mind for a moment before I gather my wits.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, having to shout over the music I was just dancing to all of five seconds ago. Christian's jaw tightens and after two long seconds, his eyes finally move reluctantly away from Ethan to look at me.

"We weren't done talking when you left my office," he snarls. He doesn't shout, but his voice can somehow still be heard over the music.

I open my mouth for a retort, but suddenly there are two hands resting lightly on my shoulders, and another voice answers for me. "You need to leave," Ethan tells him from behind me. Christian's eyes flash back up to Ethan, scintillating with barely-controlled anger.

"Fuck off, Kavanaugh," he bites harshly, standing a little taller. Arrogant. Ethan moves closer to me, his hands drop and he rests his entire forearm across my shoulders now. Protective.

"You have a problem, Grey?" he snaps right back, the tone still sounding strange coming from his mouth even though it's muted in the noise.

Christian takes a menacing step closer, hostility oozing from him as his hands clench into fists at his sides. He glowers at Ethan silently for several long moments, before he reluctantly looks back at me, apparently deciding that confrontation with Ethan isn't what he came for. "Come outside with me."

"Why?" I shout, irritated.

"We need to talk."

"I said all there is to say earlier, Christian."

"Dammit, Anastasia. Just five minutes," he says, voice hard as he suddenly reaches for me. Not necessarily in a threatening way, but more instinctively. But that doesn't stop Ethan as his arm suddenly moves across my front, pushing me back as he steps in front of me – in between me and Christian.

Shocked, my hands plant on his back as I lean around him, watching as Christian's enraged face snaps up to him. _Uh oh. _This isn't good.

"Don't you think you've put her through enough today?" Ethan challenges. Christian takes another step closer so they're almost chest to chest now. I gulp, my eyes going wide with alarm as the gravity of the situation occurs to me.

"It's none of your goddamn business," Christian retorts.

"It is when you're hurting someone I care about."

"Is that what you told her in order to fuck her?" Christian's shouting now, angrier than I've ever seen him. And that's saying a lot.

Underneath my hands, I feel the muscles in Ethan's back stiffen, going rigid just before he inclines forward, his stance becoming aggressive. He and Christian are now eye to eye, their faces dangerously close.

My huge eyes scan around us, noticing that there is now a good two foot berth between us and the rest of the crowd – people having noticed the confrontation and wisely deciding to move away. I stagger a step, grabbing Ethan's bicep as I try to move around to his side. But he seems oblivious to my presence, all his focus on Christian.

And then, Ethan puts the icing on the cake when he cocks his head to the side, shouting, "What we do isn't any of your business!"

And that's it. I can visibly see Christian hit his limit, unable to hold his temper any longer. Adrenaline kicks in as I watch the rage spill over in his eyes – his intentions clear. I see his right shoulder shift, moving back in the action that will be followed by his arm. _OH NO!_

Luckily, he doesn't get his whole arm around before I'm suddenly scrambling in front of Ethan and wiggling myself between them, forcing them apart.

"STOP!" I shout just as the song morphs into another one. Touching issues be damned! I lunge toward Christian, my left hand flying out and latching onto his arm before it can pull back and shoot forward toward Ethan. My grip is iron-clad, powered by adrenaline, and my other hand grabs his opposite shoulder. I push back with all my might, and even though I disdain working out, it's quite a lot for a girl my size. Proving this, Christian stumbles back two full steps. Thankyouverymuch.

His infuriated face whips down to regard me with surprise. "Stop it," I repeat, stressing the words. His jaw clenches again, but I feel his muscles loosen up under my grip as his eyes calm down slightly, flickering, almost longingly, at Ethan once more before resting on mine again.

"If I go outside with you, will you calm down?" I ask pointedly. He gives me one stiff, mechanical nod, expression grim. I sigh in resignation, almost defeat. I unlock my grip on Christian, releasing him and taking a step back as I turn on my precariously high heels, bringing me to face Ethan again.

His eyes snap from watching Christian guardedly to looking at me with concern. Touching his arm lightly with my hand, I lean in so he can hear me better.

"I'll be right back," I shout. His eyes flash with unease, flickering back to Christian for a split second.

"You shouldn't have to put up with this, Ana," he argues, obviously a little ticked off at the situation. I give him a small smile of gratitude for his concern.

I'm aware that Christian is standing right behind me – and can hear everything I'm saying. So, I lean in closer, extending until my mouth is right at Ethan's ear so I can drop my voice until only he can hear. "If my stepping out for just a few minutes is what it takes to get him to leave us alone, then it's worth it."

When I pull back, Ethan does the same, putting his lips close to my ear so he can answer. "You could just let me take care of it," he hints. I give him a reproving look.

"I don't want you getting into a fight over me, Ethan. I don't want to ruin our night. As soon as I get him to leave, we'll go back to having fun, alright?"

He nods reluctantly, but wisely lets it go. I pull back, about to turn away but he puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me and leaning in again. "I'll be close by, just in case you need me, okay?"

I blink up at him, seeing the worry in his eyes, protectiveness written all over his face. My lips curve into a soft smile, yet again completely touched by his concern for me. I nod, and because of the suddenly warm feeling I have, I reach up onto my tip toes and give him a quick peck on the cheek. His face softens for a moment in response, before turning into a grimace as he glances over my shoulder.

I'm just about to turn around when I'm suddenly being hauled away, a hand closing around my wrist and dragging me off into the crowd and away from Ethan. The abrupt movement makes me turn in that direction to see the back of Christian storming full steam ahead, forcing his way through the mass of people with me in tow behind him.

I stagger this way and that, struggling to keep up with the pace he's set while trying to maneuver in these damn shoes. His grip around my wrist isn't painful, but still unbreakable. I don't think I could pull out of it even I planted my feet and pulled with all my strength. And believe me, the thought crosses my highly annoyed, irritated mind.

With his speed, it doesn't take long before we've made it out of the crowd, but he still doesn't hesitate, doesn't slow as he hauls me off toward the door.

The big bouncer at the entrance watches us with suspicion as we pass him. I can't help but vaguely wonder what the sumo-sized dude would do if I suddenly starting making a scene and shouting for help. The mental imagine actually makes my lips quirk, but I dismiss it. Dramatic displays have never been my thing.

So, like the good little girl Christian only wishes I were, I just keep my mouth shut and follow him – until we make it outside of course.

The refreshing night air feels amazing on my feverish skin, flushed from dancing then breaking up a fight before it could start. I take a deep breath of it, letting it clear away all the fuzziness brought on by alcohol.

Halfway out on the wide sidewalk, Christian finally turns, dropping my wrist. As soon as he does, I stop walking, keeping a good space between us. I cross my arms defensively across my chest, suddenly painfully aware of how little clothing I'm wearing. Under his intense gaze, I feel horribly self-conscious all of a sudden, the confident woman from the dance floor long gone at the moment.

"Well?" I ask. "You have me out here. So now what?"

"What do you think you're doing?" he snaps, irritated.

I give him a dramatic look of confusion. "I'm standing here, listening to you berate me like a five year old for no fucking reason, apparently."

He huffs, running a hand through his floppy hair. "No, you're in a club, half-dressed, throwing yourself at some prep school prick, and probably already well on your way to getting plastered."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I say sarcastically. "I thought I was a _grown woman _who's out, enjoying a Friday night with her _friend _after a very shitty day." I pause, then narrow my eyes. "How did you know where I was?"

"It's not important," he says automatically.

I nod a few times, pursing my lips. "Alright, have it your way," I say simply, turning away from him and striding back to the door.

"Ana. Wait!" he calls. I keep moving. "Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" I stop mid-stride, whirling back around and looking at him expectantly.

"I tried calling you a few times earlier, but you didn't answer. And I really wanted to talk to you after everything that went down at my office. So I went to your apartment. But no one was there. So, I tried tracking your phone again. But it gave the address to the condo so I knew you must have left it at home before leaving. I figured wherever you were, you were probably with Kavanaugh, so I looked up his number and tracked his cell instead. It obviously led me here." He gestures with his hand as he finishes.

I blink, and my lips part with surprise as he finishes his tale of extreme stalking. "And you did all of that just to pull me out of a nightclub?"

"No," he huffs, yanking his finger through his hair swiftly. "I did all of that because I had to talk to you."

"Christian, we did all the talking there is to do back at your office," I disagree tersely.

He raises an eyebrow sardonically. "If I recall correctly, that wasn't talking – that was just you doing a lot of yelling."

"What's the point in talking when you don't listen?"

"On the contrary," he says, annoyed. "You're one of the few people I've ever listened to." I barely choke back a disbelieving laugh at his words. He listens to me? _Yeah right. _Just more useless comebacks that make no sense and simply aren't true. Suddenly, I feel a strong sense of dejá-vu coming on. Just a fucking repeat of went down several hours ago. The thought makes me feel completely drained, having no more patience or tolerance to go another round of this. How much is one girl expected to take in twenty-four hours?

I put the fingertips of either hand on my temples, massaging my head and closing my eyes. The plentiful doses of Advil combined with the alcohol has kept the tender, aching feeling out of skull from the knot. But suddenly, I feel like my head is going to explode simply from having too much to process.

"Christian," I sigh, sounding unbelievably weary. "I can't take any more of this shit today, okay?" I slowly open my eyes, raising them until I see his face suddenly change, softening until he looks almost…remorseful. Almost. He takes a step closer to where I stand.

"I didn't come here to argue," he says genuinely. "I just want to talk. Properly. How I should have talked to you when you came to Grey House."

I tilt my head to the side, watching him warily. His soft tone and sincere expression have me suspicious. "Okay," I say with a nod, crossing my arms. "What do you want?"

He stares at me for a long moment before answering. "You." His tone takes me off guard. In just the one word, he sounds desperate, troubled.

I swallow hard, my arms dropping to my sides. "I meant, what do you want to _talk _about?"

"Us," he says in a heavy exhale.

Despite myself, I manage to crack a tiny smile as I say, "You know, this would probably go quicker if you'd give me more than just monosyllable pronouns."

Christian doesn't smile, but his expression does lighten just a touch before he sighs, looking down at the ground in front of him. When glances back up, he looks a little lost. _Oh, lost Fifty is truly novel to see._

"I'm not even sure where to start," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

_Come on, Ana _my subconscious whispers, giving me a good hard nudge. _Isn't this what you wanted all along? For him to just talk to you for a change? _My bottom lip moves underneath my top teeth as I chew on it, deliberating. I find myself glancing behind me at the club door.

On one hand, I told Ethan I would only be a few minutes, and I don't want him coming out to check on me. Plus, a "talk" with Christian has the odds to turn ugly. And I simply don't want to deal with it right now.

But on the other hand, my sub – pun intended – is right. Each time Christian has shown up in the past few days, it has turned into an argument mostly because he has refused to talk to me. Like a normal person. He just keeps speaking in cryptic, sneaky remarks that he knows I'll never unravel. And right now, seeing nothing but earnestness on his face, I think that maybe this will be my only chance to get any real answers.

In the end, curiosity – or maybe stupidity, I don't know – wins out. My will to just block out the force that is Christian Grey is already weakened by the fuzzy feeling I'm getting because of the alcohol, and is completely crumbled when I look back to his eyes, gazing ardently at me.

To our left is a wooden city bench right on the edge of the sidewalk, and without saying anything, I turn and walk over to it, sitting down and getting off these heels. Glancing back, I see Christian still standing where he was, looking at me as I merely gesture to the place beside me. He hesitates for a split second, then follows my example and strides over, sliding into the place next to me with slow ease.

I look over at his wide, luminous gray eyes and take a deep breath, using Ethan's line from earlier. "Why don't you just start at the beginning?"

**A/N: I bet a lot of you are going, "FINALLY!" haha. Yes, finally a conversation with no yelling! **

**Review please! **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I hate making these things long, so I'll say this quickly…**

**If you were the Guest reviewer who said **"Enough with the Ethan and Ana 'maybe more than friends' bullshit. We readers want Ana back with Christian and we are sick of this story dragging on."

**…Uh, you need to learn how to use pronouns – it's ****_I_**** not ****_we_****. SPEAK FOR YOURSELF because there are plenty others who like it! And if ur so sick of it "dragging on" then STOP FUCKING READING! **

**It's hateful and completely unnecessary, and if you can't express your opinion in a respectful way like an adult, then I'll just assume you're a five year-old because that's exactly what you sound like. **

**With that being said, here's more of my "bullshit" for you guys! ;) **

* * *

Christian sucks in a deep breath, letting in inflate his cheeks as he blows it back out noisily. He shifts in his seat, turning towards me as I merely keep regarding him patiently.

Then, he sighs and says the last thing I ever expected to hear. "I miss you."

I blink rapidly several times, letting the three little words sink in. Sure, not the three little words I would've given everything and more to hear – during a time when I still held out hope that I would get them – but heartening nonetheless. Despite my surprise, they still incite a small blip of warmth to stir from within me. I try to quell it, to remind myself that just a few nice words do not outset the things he's done in the past few days – but I can't seem to get a hold over it. Not when I spent every second not that long ago craving words like them – desiring his affection like air.

Finally, I drop my eyes from his, glancing across the street and staring absentmindedly as I ask, "Really?" I'm surprised when my tone comes across casual, conversational. Surprised, but very relieved.

"Yes. Very much so." Hearing this makes me glance back at him, still seeing nothing but heartfelt emotion written into all the fine lines of his perfect face. I grind my teeth together, trying to fight the long-lost fuzzy feeling beginning to break free. _Stay strong, Steele! You've come too far just to be pulled back by a moment of gentility. _

I take a deep breath, calming the turmoil of emotion tossing around in my stomach and trying to find my earlier irritation – to remind myself of the qualms I still have concerning him.

"You have a funny way of showing it," I manage to say, but the words have no bite, no anger behind them. Just whispered quiescence.

Despite the softness of my response, it still makes his eyes flash with emotion, obviously hitting a nerve. "Correct me in saying this – but you won't allow me to show you anything. No matter what I do, you just keep shutting me out."

This time, he's the one who hits a nerve, sparking a glimmer of annoyance to resurface. I latch onto it, using it. "That's because the only thing you've done is scheme and do things behind my back. Of course I'm going to shut you out when all you're doing is forcing me closer."

He huffs out a sharp sigh, running his hand through his hair. "I'm not trying to be sneaky, Anastasia. I'm just trying to keep an eye on you."

"But that's just it, Christian!" I stress. "Why do you _need _to keep an eye on me? We're not together! Even if we were, all of this would be unnecessary, so what purpose do you possibly have in it now?"

I watch as his eyes harden just a smidge. "How many times do you want me to say it? I have to keep you safe. And this is the only way I know how."

I groan dramatically, showing how outdone I am with hearing this same excuse. "Safe from what, though?"

He shifts uncomfortably, and his eyes dart around across the street as if he's paranoid. _Case in point…_ Then, one of his shoulders rises and drops as he looks back at me. "The world."

"Christian, keeping me safe, and simply keeping me on a leash are two different things. What you're doing isn't protective – it's possessive."

His face takes on a look petulance. "So?" he challenges. "You're still mine, Anastasia."

My lips part and my eyes widen in disbelief. I knew this is how he saw things. But to actually hear him say it – to see the absolute seriousness on his face, baffles me. "No, I'm not."

This time, his whole face hardens, glimmering with anger. "Besides," I go hurriedly before he can start yelling. "Even if we were still together – this would still be entirely too much."

"This?" he asks tersely, looking for elaboration.

"This…," I wave a hand around, looking for the right word. "Behavior."

With my response, he cracks just a little – his anger marred slightly with a touch of what looks like amusement. "Behavior?"

"Yes!" I exclaim, whole-heartedly before sighing, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. "You have to stop trying to bring me to heel, Christian." I open my eyes again, and add in a whisper, "You have to learn to let go."

A look akin to pain flashes in his eyes. "I can't," he swears, shaking his head.

"You haven't tried."

"I can't," he just merely repeats.

"You have to. This isn't healthy – for either of us. How are we supposed to get on with life, when you keep trying force me to fit into an image of something that will never exist?"

"What if I don't want to 'get on with life'?" he demands fervently, making air quotes with his fingers around my words. "I still want you, Anastasia. So why would I try to move on?"

"Haven't you heard?" I say with irony. "We don't always get what we want."

His jaw tenses as he clenches his teeth. "I do," I disagrees peevishly. _God, it's like talking to a spoiled child…_

"But it's not me you want," I point out. "It's my submission."

"No. It's not just that – I want _you_. All of you." I swallow, trying so hard to ignore the desperate tone in his voice.

"No, you don't. You know the saying, 'Men want what they can't have'? Well, submission is the one thing I won't give you. So now, you're doing everything possible to get it. But all you're doing is suffocating me to death."

I have no idea what I've said, but his eyes widen drastically and dismay colors his face. "I don't want to suffocate you," he whispers.

I blink, shocked by the level of emotion I see on his features. "Well, you are. Incredibly so. For God's sake, Christian – you bought a company just because I worked there!"

He sighs, letting his face return to normal. "I just want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine!" I almost yell, surprising us both. "I can take care of myself!"

His chest expands as he takes a deep breath, frustration written all over him. He looks away, appearing to gather a response as his eyes scan across the street again. But as he looks down and back toward me, they settle on something. He leans closer. It takes me a second to realize that he's staring at my arm.

I follow his eyes to the bruise just as he reaches out. Before I can react, his fingers come to it, tracing it with feather-light pressure before resting over it. His hand is broad, and much wider than Jack's, so that with his hand over the outline, the bruise completely disappears out of sight. His touch is light, barely felt, but enough to ignite a spark from deep within me. Again, I feel the electricity. Just like in the club, only stronger. More potent. Like an electrical current that's humming between the two of us, alive and intense.

I suck in a quick breath from between my lips as I swallow, trying to ignore my usual reaction to his touch – the longing for another. To feel more of his hand. More of his skin.

He keeps his eyes down, and his fingers just barely press a tad firmer. "Please, let me take care of Hyde. I don't want you dragged through all of that shit. And I can make sure he gets what he deserves." His eyes flicker back up to meet mine, revealing the barely-contained rage within them. But behind the anger, I can also see the plea.

I swallow, and I don't know if it's his hand on me or maybe the fact that this is the first time he's actually_ asked _me for something instead of taking it, but I find myself nodding before I even tell my head to do so. "Okay," I whisper.

He blinks, and the wrath dims, overshadowed my complete and utter shock. "Okay?" he asks, surprise evident. "You're actually letting me do something for you?"

Despite myself, a very small smile lifts the corners of my mouth. "You'd be surprised what a difference it would make if you just ask nicely when you want to do something, Christian." His brows furrow for a moment, bemused, but the surprise passes and he nods.

Then the anger returns and his face hardens, jaw clenched. "I want to kill him for hurting you," he whispers, voice deadly.

Needing his skin off of mine so I can think clearly, I very softly pull my arm out from under his hand, acting like it's so I can grab his fingers – giving his hand a gentle squeeze with my own before releasing him.

"It's not nearly as bad as it could have been," I reassure him, adding, "I've had worse." I want to roll my eyes as I think about all the bumps and bruises I've given myself by merely tripping or running right into things like counters and chairs. I look at the bruise – _Yep, I've definitely had worse than this_.

But when I glance back up at Christian, he looks like I've just stabbed him. My brow creases. "I'll never forgive myself for hurting you either," he chokes out. Comprehension dawns on me immediately. He thinks I was referring to the belt incident…

"Oh God," I think out loud, guilty. "No, no, no. I wasn't talking about you, Christian. I wasn't even thinking about that."

He swallows, calming a little when learns I wasn't trying to say he's worse than Hyde. "Still," he insists. "It should have never happened. I should have never done that."

I cock my head to the side, giving him an aren't-you-forgetting-something look. "If I remember right, I literally asked for it."

"It doesn't matter. I knew you didn't realize what you were saying – that you weren't ready. As a dominant," he stops, running a hand roughly through his hair. "Hell, as a boyfriend – that's my responsibility to tell you that. But I did it anyway. I lost control. And I'm sorry." His voice burns with regret as I blink at him, surprised by the sudden onslaught of fervency. Before I can respond, a look of almost urgency crosses his face.

"But why didn't you safe-word, Ana?" he demands, clearly upset. "I know I should have never gone that far, but I trusted you to stop me. So why didn't you?"

My eyebrows come together in surprise, and I frown, taken off guard. This isn't something I've thought about. While it was happening or in the time since. And now, with him mentioning it, I can see what a valid question it is. _Jeez! He's saying I could have stopped him. I didn't even think about it. _

"I-" I stutter, opening my mouth but close it, not knowing what to say. His expression is confused and accusatory at the same time, and I feel self-conscious and chastised all of a sudden because of it.

I simply shrug. "I don't know," I tell him honestly, a little embarrassed. "I just forgot about it, I guess."

Christian looks absolutely horrified with that explanation. "You _forgot?_"

"Yes. I forgot. I'm not a submissive, Christian. I'm not used to all that shit. I was too busy trying to prove to myself that I could handle it. That I could be okay with it, and it just never even occurred to me. But I couldn't handle it – I can't. I'm not trying to make you feel bad about what happened. I didn't even mean to bring it up. I don't blame you, Christian. I'm glad it happened."

His eyebrows move halfway up his forehead. "Glad?" he asks incredulously.

"Okay, maybe that's the wrong word. But I don't regret it. It made me see that I'm not cut out for all of that. That I don't have it in me. That I'm not what you need. And I'm _glad _I found out sooner rather than later."

"But you _are _what I need!" he disagrees, leaning forward, compelling me to see it his way.

"No," I say, unable to disguise the sadness in my voice. "I'm not. But you have to stop doing all of this, trying to make me change. All of this domineering, high-handedness; all of what you're calling 'protectiveness', needs to stop. I'm never going to just give in, Christian. I thought you would have learned by now."

"I'm not trying to bring you to heel, Anastasia. I really _am _just trying to protect you. I don't know any other way."

"I know. I know you don't. And that's why I left. Because I knew that not only am I not what you need, but," my voice drops, the words burning their way out. "You aren't what I need either." I shut my mouth hard, swallowing past the large lump suddenly in my throat. I try to remind myself that it's the truth, but it makes it no less difficult to accept – no less painful to admit.

Christian's lips part, and distress settles over his face. The moment seems to stretch on for an eternity, but finally Mr. Mercurial reigns in his expression, suddenly looking irritated. He looks back to the entrance of the nightclub, jerking his head in that direction. "So, is _he _what you need, then?"

My mouth comes open with shock at the abrupt change, his almost angry tone inciting irritation of my own. "Would you stop bringing Ethan into this? He has nothing to do with this situation."

"The hell he doesn't," Christian snaps, and for a split second, I think consider setting the record straight. It's not like I've forgotten the impression I left him with a few hours ago. But I dismiss it after only a second. After all, there's no doubt in my mind that that's the only reason for the drastic change in his approach. It got through to him, and I'm afraid if I come clean, we'll be right back to square one.

Christian is oblivious to my musings as he goes on in the next second. "So what is it then? Are just trying to make me jealous? To get back at me? Do you really hate me that much?"

All of the breath _whoosh_es out of me just as severely as if he had punched me in the gut. He might as well have. My mouth opens, but no words come out as I just gaze at him in shock – and he at I in sincere inquiry.

"Excuse me?" I demand, almost angry now. He blinks, surprised by my rising outburst, but he doesn't get to answer the rhetorical question before I go on. "Have you _ever _heard those words come out of my mouth? Have I _ever _said I hate you?"

His irritation dissipates. "No," he answers honestly. "I just assumed-"

"Well, you assume wrong!" I interrupt.

"It's just every time I see you, you always get so angry," he says as if he does not comprehend. Like what he sees, and what I'm telling him aren't matching up.

I sigh heavily. "I get angry because I every time I see you, you're brusque and demanding – still trying to control me when all I want is distance – distance so I can heal. Anger's the only way I have left to protect myself. I _hate _the things you do, Christian. But I could never hate you, personally."

His eyebrows knit together in consternation. "So, you don't hate me?" he asks, sounding like he's checking to make sure he heard me right.

"No."

He draws in a deep breath, and when he blows it back out, he whole body relaxes. But it lasts only a second before he's regarding me warily, almost bracing himself. "So…before you left…what you said…is that still true?"

I give him a sideways glance, perplexed by his convoluted question. "I said a lot of things – you're going to have to be more specific."

He swallows hard." About how you feel about me," he says in a whispered rush. Immediately, I get what he's referring to. My eyes snap down to my fingers knotted together in my lap, unable to stand looking into his eyes as I answer truthfully. "Of course I still love you. It doesn't just go away that fast." My voice quavers, the volume rising and falling in odd places, but I know he still heard me because I hear him suck in a breath, almost sounding like a gasp. A piercing feeling of grief stabs right through my heart, like I haven't felt for days now. My breathing hitches as I try to reign the sudden avalanche of poignancy.

I still don't look up. _How on earth could he think I hate him? Sure, we've been in some arguments, but does he not understand that emotions that strong don't just evaporate because you get mad at someone? _The thought brings on a strong realization – that _no, _he doesn't understand that. Because he's spent all his life running from any sort of emotional attachment. He's kept himself distanced from the rest of the world and everybody in it, not allowing himself to love or be loved in return. So, no – he doesn't get it. Because he's never had to. Because he doesn't feel it himself, so why would he empathize with how I feel – why _would_ he understand?

My eyes suddenly prick painfully, my recognition of the obvious truth bringing on a bout of even more unexpected emotion, a wave of depression as I'm once again reminded of how much more I feel for him then he feels for me. But that doesn't stop me from loving him. From loving the person I've seen underneath all his bravado and arrogance. The person I used to think he could be – the one I _do _need.

My sinking thoughts are interrupted when I notice Christian sliding closer to me, so close that I can suddenly feel his body heat radiating out toward me in between the tiny space between us. I wince, trying to ignore the pleasant sensation as he inclines his head closer to my still-downcast one.

"Then come back to me," he whispers, so quietly that our close proximity is the only reason I can even hear him.

My breath hitches, and my heart stutters with pain at his soft entreaty. I chance a glance up at him, and regret it immediately for it does nothing but make it worse. His eyes are wide, shining silver in the muted light, with a crease above them as his brow pulls together in a desperate sort of way. Over every inch of his beautiful face, I see nothing but sincerity, compelling me to agree.

I bite down hard on my lip, and jerk my face away, staring off in the opposite direction. _Don't do this, Steele! _

"I can't," I finally say.

"Please, Ana," he begs from behind me as I studiously gaze at a lamppost on the other side of the street. "I want to try again. I still want you…I still want _more._"

I close my eyes, shutting them tight as I fight to keep a hold on the unbearable emotions raging inside me, tears still threatening to spill over. The lovelorn, weaker side of me – the old side of me – is screaming for me to say yes! To throw every ounce of my pride to the ground and tell him to take me back to his place right now. To just ignore everything I've learned from being with him, and try to force myself into his world once more, into the darkness of it.

But the stronger, rational part of me knows better. Much better. And finally, it gains the upper hand. "I left for a reason," I say, thinking out loud, the words meant for me, not him. I take a deep breath, opening my eyes again. I can still feel his body unbearably close to mine, and suddenly, I can't take the nearness. I need some distance if I'm going to think clearly about this.

So, I stand abruptly, taking a good long step away before turning around to look at Christian once more. He turns in the seat, surprised by my action but still looking at me with that beseeching expression that beckons to me, down to every last molecular cell in my body.

"I know," he acknowledges my statement of fact. "But it'll be different this time. We can start over. Revisit and revise."

I shake my head, both in disagreement and an attempt to keep thinking straight. "No. it won't," I say, talking to both him and myself this time. "We're too different, Christian. It's not going to work. Trying harder will just make an even bigger mess of things. Especially for me." I have to fight so hard to get the words out, and fight even harder make myself believe them. His words and the promise they hold are so tantalizing and tempting. But I _do _know what I'm saying is the truth. Starting over will just have the same end. It doesn't matter how we go about this, I'm never going to be what he needs me to be – never going to do everything he has in mind.

"Please. " He rises from the seat as well and comes around the bench from the other side, approaching me.

I shake my head more vigorously, taking a step back. "No. I'm sorry, Christian, but I can't. I've already tried, and I'm telling you – it's not going to work." I know that going back now would just cause me even more pain in the long run – trying to be someone else. I couldn't do it two weeks ago. And I sure as hell couldn't do it now that I've accepted that fact, embraced it.

"I can make it work," he insists, taking another step closer. "It'll be different. _I'll _be different."

I huff out a garbled breath, raising my hand in a so-what gesture. "You shouldn't have to be, though," I point out. "Relationships – ones that are actually healthy – shouldn't require the people involved to turn into someone they're not. I'm not asking you to change, Christian. That wouldn't be fair to you. Just like asking me to change for you isn't fair." He takes a step closer. I take a step back. "When all of this mess first started, I told you I would _try_. And I did. I gave it a go. But I failed. And I'm sorry for that, okay? I'm not trying to put this off on you. It's not your fault. You were just being yourself, and I can expect no less."

He takes one forward. I take another back. "And you have to extend the same courtesy to me, and let me be who I am. But the only way I can actually _do _that, is away from you. We can't coexist peacefully, Christian. And again, I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I didn't turn out to be what you hoped, and that it didn't work out. I'm sorry for not safewording." Another step forward…another step back.

My voice rises and shoots up about ten octaves as I go on. "And I'm fucking _sorry _that I didn't just walk out of the door as soon as you showed me that goddamn room."

He steps toward me…I step away from him. Suddenly, my back makes contact with the hard surface of the outside wall of the nightclub. Nowhere else to retreat. So I merely use the object to support myself as I draw in strength.

"But I'm _not _sorry for leaving. And don't ever expect me to apologize for being myself," I say firmly, just as he steps again, bringing himself right in front of me. I gaze up at him seriously. "Or for resisting whenever you try to exact your will over me."

One more tiny little move of his foot, and we're pressed together, no more room. He slowly brings his hands up, planting them on either side of my head against the wall. "I'm not asking you to," he say quietly. "I don't want apologies. Nor are they called for. All I'm asking is that you give us another chance."

"There's no point!" I'll just end up in an even bigger mess than I'm in already.

"Yes. There is! You would see that if you would just at least entertain the idea, and stop fighting me so hard. I'm not asking you to change, Ana. I want you. Smart mouth and all."

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall, completely at a loss. This type of arguing is even more exhausting than screaming and yelling. It makes me regret ever letting my anger and irritation go. It's so much easier being mad than heartbroken. Feeling like this, I'm not only having to fight him, but myself as well – fight the part of me that is still very much under his influence. Like a recovering drug addict who's being pulled back in by the lure of just one more high…

Out of nowhere, I feel lips pressing against my tilted jaw. I gasp in shock, my eyes flying back open. Christian has moved his face, brought his lower to mine. And sure enough, his mouth is hovering over my jawbone. I can feel his breath against my skin as he pulls them up and exhales.

His body leans into me, pressing me against the wall. _Damn me for ever wearing this dress! _Through it, I can feel…everything. Every blessed inch of his chest pushing up against me. Every curve of me fitting to him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and jerk my face to the right. "Christian," I gasp. "Stop."

He inclines closer, moving to my shoulder. "Why?" he murmurs against my clavicle before planting another kiss there as well. "You still want me too, Anastasia. I know you do."

_Of course I still want you! _I want to scream, but I don't. I sink my teeth into my lip, sealing my mouth shut. I know I should move. I know I should push him away. I know I should get the hell out of here. His lips press against the soft skin on my neck.

_I should – I shou – Oh God! _

Suddenly, I'm thankful for him holding me against the wall. Otherwise, I would be falling over right now due to the fact that my whole body has turn to putty. My brain is telling me one thing, but my body is telling me another. It's so attuned to him, to his touch, to his hands, to his lips…that even when I don't want it to – it responds to him. Even now. Another kiss…_Oh dear Jesus…_Okay, especially now.

I suck in a shallow gasp when I realize that I've stopped breathing. My eyes dart around to my right in desperation as I try to find my willpower, my strength – hell, my fucking dignity. Anything to get me away from this…this…_seduction. _I swallow, and hear a high whimpering sound. It takes me a second to realize the noise came from me.

"Please," I beg hoarsely. "Don't do this. I can't take this."

Mercifully, Christian finally pulls back, putting a tiny distance between us. It's small, but it's enough for me stop feeling like I'm about to implode.

"Come on, Ana," he says. "Please. Just stop over-thinking for once in your life, and just do what you want to do."

I force myself to take a deep breath, this time, my thoughts coming back together piece by obliterated piece. "I told you earlier – I don't know what I want anymore."

He puts even more space between us, giving me more brainpower. "Yes you do," he disagrees, giving me a knowing look. "And it's not that fucking prick Kavanaugh."

My eyes flash, the reminder of Ethan not so subtle. "How would you know?" I demand errantly.

He smiles dangerously. "Because I know you, Anastasia. You think I don't, but I do."

"You're crazy," I huff, getting more and more irritated by the second – and loving it, using it to regain my bearings.

But he yanks me right back by cocking he head to the side, eyes dancing. "Crazy for you, baby."

I have no time to think about what to say to that before he suddenly takes a sweeping step back, releasing me from the wall. In the space between us, he suddenly extends his hand, his face going from wicked to sincerely pleading. Mr. Mercurial…

"Please, Ana," he repeats. "Come back with me. At the very least we can discuss this some more. Nothing has to happen if you don't want. You don't even have to make a decision tonight. Just let me take you back to Escala so we can talk about it." He stops then adds in a softer tone. "Come home with me."

My heart automatically swells with his words, the temptation suddenly unbearable. I drop my gaze from his, chewing on my lip again as my eyes wander aimlessly to the club door.

"Forget about him," Christian says, misreading my glance. But it does remind me – Ethan is still waiting for me. I sigh, a woman suddenly being torn apart, pulled in two different directions. One way by my subconscious who is digging her bare feet into the carpet of her shrink's office as she battles my inner goddess who is yanking me in another direction with her heels planted on the floor in the playroom.

I look back at Christian with a weary sigh. My eyes flicker down to his outstretched hand, and after one more second, one side finally wins out…

* * *

**A/N: Oooh, cliffhanger! Yes, I'm being a little mean this update. I know. Lol **


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Okay, so in the timeline E.L James wrote, this is supposed to be Christian's birthday. But for my own purposes, I'm moving it to another week from now – next "Saturday". **

**Sorry about the delay everyone! I had to do two major rewrites of this chapter, and I'm still not completely happy but oh well!**

**Here we go again! Enjoy.**

* * *

"Christian," I moan loudly, squirming in my place.

"Shhh," he murmurs, barely audible over the music playing in the background. "Quiet."

My breath comes in quick shallow gasps as I feel his lips trailing down my neck at a frustratingly leisurely pace. All the while, his hands stroke over the bare skin at my torso, moving down over my hips. So close yet so far from where I want them to be.

He plants a soft, moist kiss over the swell of my left breast, and I whimper low in my throat, pulling against the restraints on my wrist and making the chains rattle where they hang from the ceiling. The sound just adds to the erotic atmosphere, turning me on further.

Suddenly his lips make contact with my nipple, closing over it and sucking. Hard. I moan again, tossing my head back. I wish insanely that I could see him, watch him as he lays siege to my body, but the blindfold prevents that.

"Shhh," he hums again, removing his lips. The fingertips of one of his hands trail over my pelvis, getting closer…and closer…Finally, mercifully, they curve in between my legs. And without hesitation, he slides two in.

I pull harder on the restraints, gasping in pleasure at the exquisite sensation. Pleasing, yet teasing at the same time. And above all – frustrating.

Without me realizing he had even moved, his mouth is suddenly at my ear. "Shall I make you come like this?" he whispers.

"Yes!" I moan. His fingers still.

"Yes what?" he demands.

"Yes…" I gulp. "Sir."

"Ana…"

"What?"

"Ana!"

"What?"

"_Jesus, Ana! Wake up!"_

And just like that, I'm yanked violently out of my erotic reverie, suddenly blinking away the blindfold as a pair of wide, green eyes peer down at me in concern.

"What? What?" I gasp, looking around wildly before understanding hits me hard across the head. Or maybe it's just the pounding headache I suddenly have…

Ethan's hand squeezes from its place on my shoulder, stilling from trying to shake me awake. My eyes finally land back on his face, my breath slowing as I realize it was just a dream. I can't help the feeling of loss that stabs at me for a moment as I regain my bearings a bit, adjusting to being awake.

I sigh, relaxing back into the mattress, which makes Ethan do the same as he lowers back down beside me in bed. "Jeez, Ana. It sounded like you were having one hell of a nightmare. Woke me up – scared the hell out of me too."

I blush scarlet, wondering if he really thinks it was a nightmare – there's no telling what the hell I was saying in my sleep. But I glance over at him, and I see nothing but sincerity, no teasing or sarcasm. I relax immediately, shifting under the covers.

"Sorry," I say, tuning over toward him, trying desperately to ignore the slickness I feel between my thighs with the movement.

Ethan still looks over at me with a touch of concern on his face, before he blinks, his lips curving into a small smile. "How do you feel?" Immediately, I know what he's referring to.

"Hung over!" I groan loudly, burying my head into the pillow as I become painfully aware of that fact. Everything is fuzzy, and my head is pounding as hard as the music at the club last night.

He chuckles. "I can empathize."

"It feels like a big purple elephant is sitting on my head," I complain, my voice muffled and disoriented by the pillow.

He reaches over and rubs my shoulder reassuringly. "It'll pass with some Advil and caffeine. Why don't you let me make you some coffee? I know you don't like it, but it'll help."

I huff, turning my head out of the pillow. "Fine. It's worth a try."

He nods, rubbing the rest of the sleep out of his eyes. Leaning over, he plants a quick peck on my throbbing head before sliding out of bed. He rocks onto his tip toes and raises his hands high above his head, stretching his lean body and pulling every muscle tight, yawning. He shoots me a lopsided grin, shirtless.

"I'll be back, milady." And he disappears through the door, shutting it behind him.

I sigh, sinking lower into the warmth of the covers with a garbled groan while squinting my eyes at the sunlight that streams through the curtains of the guest bedroom. Ethan's room.

The shift causes silk to slide across my skin, bringing to my attention that I'm still wearing the same dress I wore last night.

I close my eyes, pulling the blanket closer around me, and I inhale deeply, catching the scent of Ethan – left behind from him sleeping here for the last few nights. Letting the sweet fragrance surround me, I try to clear away the cobwebs as I recall the _real _memories of last night…

I take Christian's hand in mine, stepping closer to him. Closing my fingers around his, I bring his hand up to my face, planting a soft kiss on the back of it. I glance at him with resignation as he watches me, hope lighting his eyes.

"You should go," I whisper sadly against the skin of his hand just before I release it. Immediately the light turns to shock, his lips even parting. _Yeah, I'm shocked too. Never thought I'd have the will to say no to you, Fifty._

"Ana," he huffs. "No. Please. Just come with me."

I shake my head slowly, sorrowfully as I already start backing away. "I can't, Christian. I'm sorry." _I can't go back – I've come too far to do this to myself again. He'll break me completely next time if I let him. _

His eyes go wide, and he looks around himself wildly. For inspiration? Intervention? Distraction? I have no clue, but he suddenly glances back at me. He blinks rapidly, watching me take another step backward. His shoulders sag and he takes a deep breath.

"So that's it, then?" he asks, almost in disbelief. The sadness in his voice rings loud and clear, stabbing straight at my heart.

I take one more step back, nodding. "That's it. That's all I have left to give you." _If I give anything more, there'll be nothing left of me. _I fight the grief washing over me as I turn with surprising grace on these high heels, and scurry toward the door of the club, the thumping within getting louder as I get closer.

But just as I reach the entrance, I put my hand on the corner of the wall, pausing so I can turn, looking over my shoulder one last time at him. I don't know why, but I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to make sure he knows something.

"I'll always love you, Christian," I say just loud enough for him to hear. "I'm just sorry that's not enough for you."

I don't chance another look back, don't stop to see how my words are received. Instead, I jerk my face forward, flitting through the entrance and reentering the nightclub which is still in full swing.

I stop at the edge of the crowd, my eyes scanning but coming up empty. I chew on my lip, getting antsy as people swarm about me. For some reason, a feeling akin to almost panicked dejection is closing in on my throat, making me anxious to find Ethan. I start working my way through people, coming to the bar. I crane my neck, standing on my tip toes, seeing tons of people, but none are the one I'm longing to see.

So I keep going, maneuvering and trying to find my way back to where we were sitting earlier before we hit the dance floor. I stop, peering down the length of the bar again. The strobe starts flickering insanely just as I spot a head of tousled dirty blond hair. Relief spikes in me as I dart in that direction, having to twist and turn between people in the process. But finally I reach him, stopping just behind him.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Ethan."

I step to his side just as his face whips around to me. Shock shoots through me as I'm met with the sight of a face that is…not Ethan. I jerk my hand back. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," I shout, completely mortified.

The strobe finally flickers to a solid color, illuminating the room so that I can now see that he doesn't even look like Ethan at all.

The mystery man gives me a wide, toothy smile, and his eyes roam downward. I fight the urge to cringe. "That's alright, sweetheart. I'll be anybody you want me to be," he drawls drunkenly. My stomach turns sickeningly when I hear _sweetheart. _The pet name Jack used…

I shake my head quickly, turning to retreat from the horrid memories brought up when I feel a hand close around my arm as the intoxicated ass grabs me – not noticing the huge bruise his fingers are closing around. "Hey, don't run off so fast." He's not purposely rough, but his normal pressure still causes the sore spot to shoot with pain, stopping me in my tracks.

I let out a little yelp, but it's lost in the music, barely even reaching my own ears. I whirl back around with my arm still in his hand. But before I can jerk it out of his grasp, a much more familiar head of sandy hair appears in my periphery.

"Let her go," Ethan barks out. Blond Number Two's eyes whip over to Ethan, and he immediately releases me, looking contrite. He holds up his hands, palms out. "Sorry, man. Didn't know she was taken. I don't want any trouble."

Ethan glares at him for another few seconds, before he turns all of his attention toward me. I don't give him any time to say anything before I launch myself at him, throwing my own arms around his neck just as his snake around my waist, squeezing me tight.

The music continues to pulse, and people continue to move around us, largely ignoring our presence or our close embrace. But I only notice Ethan as he just holds me to him. Slowly, I begin to calm, my body relaxing against his. Ethan notices because his arms loosen their hold and he moves his mouth next to my ear.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head vigorously. "No, no," I answer the second question, trying to ignore the double meaning I hear in them. "I'm fine."

He stares at me dubiously. "Are you sure." _Not even remotely. _

I nod, letting my arms slide down from his neck as I pull out of his hold somewhat, though he keeps his hands on my hips. "Sorry about that," I shout.

"_You_ have nothing to apologize for. You didn't tell him to come here."

"I know. Still."

He looks at me with concern. "You ready to go home?"

I blink momentarily, trying to decide what answer is the honest one. Finally, "No. Not yet." I'm suddenly scared if I go home – the scene of so many of my emotional breakdowns – that the horribly familiar feeling that has begun to set in will take over, and then I won't be able to stop it. With Ethan being there or not.

"Sure? Cause we can go anytime you want."

I smile a little at him, but it feels brittle, as I try to hard to recapture the feeling I had twenty minutes ago – my party mentality. But it's evading me at the moment. "No. I don't want this to ruin our night."

Ethan nods, but still looks rather unconvinced as we step apart and move toward the bar together, the blond stranger having disappeared by now. Ethan helps me up onto a bar stool before taking his own beside me. I lean my elbows against the bar's flat surface and take a deep, cleansing breath.

I let my eyes close for a second, clearing my mind of everything and thinking about what we were doing before Christian showed up – of how much fun I was actually starting to have. Longing to regain that light, care-free feeling, I push all of the painful shit off to the side, trying to lock it away nice and tight for now. This is still my and Ethan's night out, and I'll be damned if I spoil it. For either of us.

So, right before I reopen my eyes, I make a resolution, a promise to myself, not to think about anything except what's happening at this very second. There's no yesterday, no tomorrow. No five minutes ago, no five minutes from now. Just right here, right now. Immediately, it feels like I've flipped a numb switch in my brain, because suddenly the sweetest feeling of almost indifference washes over. I blow a breath as if a physical pain has been relieved.

Feeling resolved and solid, I look back over to Ethan who is still watching me worriedly.

He leans toward me, still concerned. "Is there anything I can do for you?" I give him a devilish smirk, hoping it looks genuine, and nod.

"What is it?"

I lean a little closer, resorting to the only thing I think that will work for me right now. "Get me drunk!"

After several unsuccessful tries, Ethan finally manages to work the key into the lock, turning it and unlocking the door as I do a little whisper-cheer behind him. "Yay!" I clap my hands together with the softest of pressure so they produce no sound as he lets the door swing open.

He turns so I can see him roll his eyes at me. "Oh, just get in here," he huffs dramatically, grabbing my hand and yanking me playfully through the threshold behind him. He shuts the door as I stumble in.

"Ahhh," I groan. "_Finally!_" I celebrate out loud as I make a show of kicking the heels clumsily off my feet, planting them on the flat floor and relishing the relief it gives.

Feeling a silly grin plastered on my face, I roll my head around lazily to look back at Ethan who is leaning up against the door, watching me with an expression that mirrors mine.

"It's a shame," he sighs. "Something so sexy being so uncomfortable."

I turn more towards him, his words managing to pique my interest through my fuzzy brain. "Sexy?"

He nods slowly, still grinning. I put a hand on my hip. "Just the shoes?" The words are a little garbled, my tired mind too lazy to put much effort into enunciating. His head changes direction, going from moving up and down to shaking side to side.

He pushes away from the door so he's standing upright and gestures with his hand at me. "All of you."

Even in my stupor, the words grab me, taking me by surprise. "You're calling me sexy?"

He nods again, his silly expression fading and becoming more serious. "Oh yeah."

My chin lifts and a I narrow my eyes dubiously. "You must have some pretty narley beer goggles on."

Ethan suddenly cocks his head to the side, eyeing me for a moment. Then, he ambles the few steps necessary to where I stand, stopping and peering down at me with bemusement. "You really don't see it, do you?" he asks, sounding confused.

"See what?"

"How beautiful you are."

I snort. "You can't see what isn't there."

His eyebrows pull together, his forehead creasing. "Ana," he softly admonishes. "You're gorgeous."

I sigh, looking down. "No I'm not."

Suddenly, his fingers are brushing underneath my chin, bringing my face back up as he ducks his lower.

I stare, wide-eyed and intoxicated, as he comes closer until his lips brush against mine, giving me a soft kiss. He pulls back, looking at me intensely. "Yes. You. Are. Why do you think Grey is in such an uproar to get you back? I would be too if let a beautiful girl like you slip through my fingers."

My breath hitches, stuttering with the painful reminder of Christian and our conversation. So far, I've been successful in keeping my promise to myself and not thinking about it. That, coupled with the alcohol has kept the icy grip of grief out of my heart. However, even though I haven't thought about it specifically, I haven't been able to shake the feeling I've had ever since. Even as I returned back to the club. Even as I danced the night away, and consumed gulp after gulp of alcohol, I still couldn't get rid of it. Even now, as I stand here, I still sense it.

I feel like something is missing. I feel almost…empty. Hollow. Unsatisfied somehow.

I swallow past the lump, forcing it out of my throat and banishing the undercurrent of unpleasant feelings. "I don't want to talk about him," I whisper hoarsely. Ethan blinks down at me, surprised first, then understanding.

"Okay. Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

I stare up at him for a long moment, intoxicated gratitude bubbling to the surface for Ethan's presence. After a shitty day like today – or yesterday, I guess – and certainly after the discussion with Christian, I would no doubt be in bed, curled up, probably still crying my eyes out. Hell, I'm still fighting the urge. Fighting hard.

But since he's been here, that hasn't happened once. But whether that says more about me or him, I'm not sure. Drawn in by the path my thoughts have wandered down, I move closer. "You're too nice, you know that?" I slur a little, referring to all of his good-Samaritan treatment of me from the second he got here. Even when he had no reason to be.

He chuckles. "I guess there are worse things to be."

"I'm serious. You're just so…so…_good._" Even drunk, I can hear the sadness in my voice. Sadness that I couldn't have fallen in love with him or someone like him. Someone normal and simple. Instead of someone I can never have and will never feel the same about me.

He shrugs. "Do you have a problem with it?" he teases me.

I shake my head silently. And after a moment, the amusement dies away from Ethan's face, replaced by a look of concern.

"Are you sure you don't wanna talk about it?" he asks, his voice sounding slightly garbled, indicating that he's probably just as drunk as I am.

I rub my eyes, suddenly beyond weary. "I'm sure," I answer. Ethan nods, slipping off his shoes and over-shirt.

"We'd better call it a night, Steele. The morning's gunna be rough," he says once he's done.

I groan, already dreading it. I'm not so far gone to recognize that I will pay for the warm, weightlessness I have at the moment.

Without another word, Ethan simply grabs my hand and starts leading me toward the hall. He starts toward my room, but I stop abruptly, making him do the same.

"Can I stay in your room tonight?" I ask all of a sudden when he gives me a questioning look. The request just pops out before I can even think about it. All I know, is I don't want to be alone and certainly not in my room – the scene of too many emotional breakdowns. The surroundings in and of themselves put me on edge.

Bemused, Ethan just nods once, changes direction and goes for the guest room where he's been staying.

He doesn't bother turning on the light, and heads for the dresser as I drop his hand and shuffle exhaustedly toward the inviting bed. I don't bother getting under the sheets as I just collapse and melt into the mattress.

I hear Ethan rustling around and the tiny bit of light from the window tells me he must be exchanging his jeans for some sleep pants. The action makes me realize that I'm still in wearing the LBD, but I simply don't have the energy to do anything about it so I guess I'll be sleeping in it.

"Thanks for tonight, Ethan. I had fun," I mumble.

"Anytime. I enjoyed it too," he says, coming over.

Before he climbs on the bed, he grabs the edge of the covers, and yanks them back on his side. He slides in them, and extends his arm to me. I scooch over, wiggling myself between the sheets as well before resting my head lightly on the curve on his shoulder.

"Night," Ethan yawns.

"Night, Ethan." I'm already practically half asleep but, I still can't shake the feeling that something's off. Something's not right, but my mind is so jumbled that I can't put my finger on it. All I know, is that as I succumb to unconsciousness, I immediately see disturbing images of wide gray eyes illuminated with desolation and beautiful features etched with pain.

Christian's face when I left his office.

"Hey, the coffee's done," Ethan says, poking his head through the door and pulling me back to the present. My eyes snap back to his.

"Oh. Okay. I'll be there in just a second. I'm going to change out of this dress," I tell him. He nods and shuts the door back.

I pull myself into a sitting position, wincing as I feel my head pound. I yawn and stretch and slide over to the edge of the bed, feeling stiff and worn as I get to my feet. I try to straighten the disheveled dress and my even more disheveled hair before I head to the door.

I put my hand on the knob, about to open it but I stop, my hand freezing as the thought that Ethan interrupted comes back to me, completing itself.

And I realize what it was that was bothering me as I fell asleep last night, before the nightmarish pictures of Christian flooded my mind.

_That feeling never went away. _Even as I stand here, slowly letting the door fall open, it hits me with striking clarity.

I still feel like something's missing. _I still feel empty. _

* * *

**A/N: I know the beginning was a little cruel. But I couldn't help myself. Haha PSYCH!**

**And before some of you get on my ass about her turning him down, keep in mind that even though he said he wanted her back, he didn't mention that there would be no agreement this time. No punishments and rules. What he was offering was a second chance to simply do the same thing all over again, and Ana knows she can't do it. Besides, I did not come this far and make Ana stronger just to have her give in right away. **

**It has to happen slowly, but it's coming. **

**Review, review, review! **


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: This was BY FAR the most difficulty I've had writing any chapter. I tried so hard to capture the correct emotion and mentality. Had to really psych myself out for it, and I hope I did you guys proud! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Oh my God!" I exclaim, as I cut the engine to the Ducati. "I forgot how amazing that it!"  
Ethan releases his hold around my waist as I tug the helmet off my head and peer over my shoulder to look at him. He takes his helmet off as well and grins at me. "Nice to know all those hours I spent teaching you paid off. You did great!"

I smile, pleased by his praise. Ethan slides off, standing beside me as I look down at the bike under me, giving it a loving stroke of my hand. "I really should look into getting one, one day."

"Well, it definitely suits you," he comments lightly, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Anyway," I say, sliding off the motorcycle. "Thanks for the ride."

"I should be telling you that. Do you know how long it's been since I've ridden on the back? Forgot how much fun it was to have someone else drive."

I snort. "Yeah. Cause shouting orders from the back is such a blast."

Ethan rolls his eyes but doesn't respond to my little remark. Instead, he asks, "Are you sure you don't need me to pick you up?"

"No. I have no idea how long I'm going to be. Plus, after my hair's done, I'm gunna walk around for a bit – maybe window shop. I've been in Seattle for two weeks, but I've yet to get out and enjoy it." I stop, then back peddle. "Except for last night, of course."

He smiles and nods. "Alright. Just call if you need anything. I won't be too far."

"What are you gunna be doing, anyway?"

"Apartment hunting," he huffs, sounding like it's the biggest imposition. I raise an eyebrow. "Already sick of me?"

He rolls his eyes again. "Hardly. But I don't think my baby sister will want me crashing with her forever. So I better go ahead and start looking."

I nod, handing him the helmet as we trade places on the bike. "Laters," he says with a huge grin.

"Laters." With that, he slips back on his own helmet and leans down, grabbing the handlebar with one hand while he cranks it with the other. Immediately, the engine roars to life deafeningly loud as I step further up onto the sidewalk.

I watch as Ethan shoots forward on the motorcycle, following the black streak he turns into until he's out of sight around the corner. I glance at my watch. 10:54. I'm just on time for my appointment as I walk into the small but stylish hair salon.

After I'm greeted by a quirky red-head with a deep southern accent – the one I talked to yesterday while making the appointment – I'm taken straight back and meet the stylist who did Claire's hair.

Clay's a tall, skinny guy only a few years older than me with jet black hair with a neon pink streak. He has a stud in his nose and powder blue shirt on. If there was any doubt from his appearance, as soon as he opens his mouth, I come to the absolute conclusion he's gay.

"Okay," he says after he has me in the chair. He runs his fingers through the length of my hair. "What do you have in mind?"

I'm about to tell him to just do a trim to get rid of the split ends, but I stop myself. _What the hell? _I think. _Let's do something different. _

"I don't care," I tell him with a small shrug and a twinge of excitement. "As long as you keep it long, and don't dye it, you can do whatever you think will look best."

Clay's light up like a Christmas tree, and I can practically see all the possibilities flickering in them.

For the next forty-five minutes, I shut my brain off as he washes and conditions my hair before setting to work. I simply concentrate on the rhythmic movement of his fingers on my scalp (after I warned him about the tender knot) and the little pull and tug as he combs and cuts, simply enjoying the sensation with no mind to what he's doing.

And at the end of the appointment, I find that what he's been doing is absolutely genius. He swivels me around toward the mirror and my eyes widen in pleasant surprise.

He's taken about an inch and a half off the length so there's no more dead ends. My hair falls in various lengths, subtle layers giving it more volume and shape. The part is now off to the side, topped off with shorter, side-swept bangs that taper downward. And the whole look has been tamed with a flat iron, making my hair look like sleek chocolate curtains on either side of my face.

"It's gorgeous," I say finally, turning my head this way and that to get a better look.

"You really like it?" he asks, nervous. I turn to beam at him. "I love it."

Even after I walk back out of the salon, I can't stop running my fingers through my locks, loving the silky feeling. But as I walk, I let my hand drop as my feet pause, looking around myself so I can decide where to go next.

Not seeing anything in particular, I just start walking in a random direction, sticking to the sidewalk.

Thankfully, the wash, cut and blow dry has helped lessen what was left of my hangover headache. That disgusting black soot Ethan called coffee this morning really didn't do much for it. Even after like five Splendas and a half a bottle of creamer.

But unfortunately, now that my morning plans are over, there's nothing to keep my mind from wandering. Nothing to concentrate on to keep me occupied, and that's a very dangerous thing. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and I haven't stopped to think about it once.

After the incident with the check, I distracted myself with work. After the huge fight at Grey House, I was busy getting ready which led to a night out. Then, after the talk with Christian, I threw myself into drinking and dancing which led to me throwing myself at Ethan.

Other than the unsettling revelation this morning as I got out of bed, I haven't really stopped to think about any of it. But now, as I walk aimlessly through the streets of Seattle, that's all I can seem to think about.

So, hooking my thumbs into the pockets of the leather jacket I'm wearing, I duck my head and take a deep breath, knowing I can't avoid it anymore. I'll go crazy if I try, and besides – I've never been one to just run away from anything as opposed to dealing with it.

Determined, I decide to just start with the most important issue. The talk last night with Christian.

_He wants me back. _The thought causes an unwelcome swell of emotion inside me. Even after all I've learned. Even all the logical reasons that I try to fight it with can't stop the tugging feeling.

His voice bounces around in my head. _"Then come back to me." _I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the piercing sadness the memory incites.

I blow out another breath, banishing the thought and the subsequent feelings, moving onto the next piece of new information. _He apologized! _He actually said he was sorry for hitting me. Yeah, I asked for it, but knowing that he regrets actually doing it, means so much more to me than I ever thought it would until I heard the words.

_But it still doesn't change anything. _My subconscious snaps, trying to deter me from going down that road. I sigh. I know she's right. I know she is. And I hate it.

The fact that he's _sorry _about it doesn't change the fact that he still _liked _doing it. I shudder as I recall the God-awful scene.

_"We're here because you said yes, Anastasia. And you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times, and you will count with me."_

_"I am doing this so that you remember not to run from me, and exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me."_

_"Count, Anastasia!"_

My step falters, my breath catching as I can practically feel the cruel bite of leather against the flesh of my bare ass. In my head, I'm screaming the numbers one through six. Before me, the concrete of the streets fall away and all I can see is the playroom as I push away from Christian, resisting his suddenly breathless passion, completely appalled by it. I don't bother trying to remember the words I hurled at him. There's no need – they're forever etched into my brain.

I swallow and look up, realizing that I've come to a full stop. I continue walking again, as I try to shake off the disturbing reminiscences. Its not what I need to focus on anyway.

But it does prove what my subconscious just reminded me of – it doesn't change anything. That's what he's into. That's what gets him off. And there is no way in hell I'll ever do it again. An impasse.

_No, I can't be what he needs. _A horrible feeling of depression and inadequacy washes over me as I continue walking, suddenly feeling like a complete failure. I wanted nothing more than for Christian and me to work, for us to achieve _more_ – to get there together. I wanted nothing else than to be everything I could for him, for him to need me instead.

When I agreed to try, agreed to his little arrangement – I knew what I was getting myself into. _Didn't I? _I had already caught a glimpse of his depravity, of his full-on fifty shades. And foolishly, naively, I thought I could not only handle my part of it, but I also thought I could somehow help him. Bring him out of it. Bring him closer to me.

I agreed to let him take me into the darkness of his world, under the hopeful assumption that it would allow me to shine light there – to pull him closer to the light with me. I sigh, feeling fifty shades of stupid as I realize that what it boiled down to was me trying to change him. Make him different. Normal.

I knew that it wasn't all Christian's fault – I told him so last night. I didn't blame him for the fact that we fell apart. _I'm _the one who left. _I'm _the one who couldn't deal with his penchant for punishment. But that's all I assumed responsibility for – for not being able to conform to his world enough. But now, I realize that it's more than that.

I was trying to force him to be someone else way too soon. Now, I see that I was putting him under just as much pressure…without even realizing it. My eyes flicker wildly about me, seeing that I've stopped walking again.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. _So, my inadequacy isn't the only reason we didn't work. _The fact that maybe I had too-high standards for him. I set the bar too high. I expected too much, too soon from him. _I expected him to change. And far too quickly._

I run my hand through my new silky hair in exasperation with myself. Maybe if I had just stuck it out…

_STOP RIGHT THERE! _My subconscious shouts, holding her hands up like she's directing traffic. _Don't you dare go there, Steele! He's still an overbearing control freak who likes to beat women. Giving him a lower standard would NOT have changed that!_

I take another deep breath and bring up my now-ice cold fingers to swipe the few stray tears away. For some insane reason, I bob my head up and down, showing that I agree with her. O-key – I'm really going crazy.

My little epiphany of my relationship errors still doesn't change the fact that it can't work between us. Even if I _had _stuck it out a little longer, it wouldn't have made a difference. Even if I _hadn't _had higher expectations from him, he still would have wanted to beat me – which is still the real crux of the problem. He still would have wanted to punish me whenever I broke a rule. He needs it. He told me himself.

_"You can always safe-word, Anastasia. Don't forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a _deep need_ in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward." _My brows pull together in consternation and melancholy, knowing that the fact is I _didn't _safe-word; I _didn't_ follow the rules; I _didn't _fulfill his "deep need"; and therefore, we _didn't _find a way forward. I just found my way to heartbreak and disappointment.

So now I know that my expectations wouldn't have changed him anymore than his expectations would have changed me. It was a challenge. One I thought I could take on.

_God, what was I thinking?_ Trying to help and heal a horribly flawed and emotionally scarred person? Trying to take a man like Christian Grey and unknowingly make him my own pet project?

_A challenging pet project I fell in love with… _I wince as pain slices like a knife at my heart, a myriad of memories assaulting my mind against my will. All the things that made me willing to walk into such an undertaking, to take that risk. All the reasons I did fall in love with him. I try to stave them off, to block them out, but I can't. Each one is burned, branded, into my brain.

_"Oh, Anastasia, you've bewitched me. Isn't it obvious?"_

_"For you, Anastasia, I will try."_

_"You com pletely beguile me, Ana."_

_"I couldn't bear to lose you."_

_"I've never wanted more, until I met you."_

I remember my mom's advice to me while I was in Georgia, telling me men were literal creatures. That I should take Christian at face value, and take everything he said literally as opposed to over-analyzing and thinking it means something else. And under that presumption, everything he said becomes that more painful to remember, especially the one that hits me now.

_"You can't love me, Ana. No… that's wrong."_ In my head, I can see the horror and fear on his face after I said I loved him the first time. But suddenly, the memory from last night – of me saying it again – interrupts the thought, and I find confusion becoming my most prominent emotion as I recall the difference between the two occasions.

Last night, I didn't see any of the same at all. Instead, he seemed relieved. Like he was glad to hear it. Such a different reaction. And my confusion only deepens as I wonder why. He went from telling me it was wrong for me to love him, to using it as a reason for me to come back to him.

The image of his pleading face and voice beseeching me to change my mind, to try again makes me wince. _"I can make it work. It'll be different. _I'll_ be different." _

The last three words keep replaying over and over like a broken record that I just can't stop. "I'll_ be different." _He'll be different? He'll be different, how? What does that mean? Did he mean it? Or was it just something to lure me back?

I huff, frustrated with myself for not delving deeper into that last night. I should have asked him what he meant, talked more about the hypothetical situation of "what if" I had gone back. But I was so busy trying to stay strong and not succumb to his angel's face and warm voice tempting the weakest part of me.

_But does it even matter? _My subconscious asks rhetorically, already knowing the answer. I sigh sadly, suddenly feeling tired and weary with effort. _No, _I think with utmost despair. _It doesn't._

All the promises of change and fresh starts can't change reality, even if they are sincere when made. It took me getting my heart broken to realize that I can't change him.

_"I don't know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am." _That is who he is. And I know, deep down, I _know _that he _already_ tried. Hard.

I shake my head, coming to terms with the fact that I've been living in just as much denial as he has the past few days. I've been trying to convince myself otherwise – that he didn't care. That he simply used me for sex. That he never truly wanted more. Because, under that assumption, it makes the decision to walk away so much easier to live with. It removes all possibilities that we could have had a future if I convince myself that he never wanted one.

Yesterday, in the heat of my anger, I wrote it all off as just a grand ploy to get what he wanted, a way to make me submit. But now that my rage is nothing more than an after thought, I'm able to admit to myself that I was unbelievably wrong. That it really was just the anger talking.

I look back over all the _more _times that I _know _we had. The night he came back and slept in my bed with me after the first spanking. Him taking me to have dinner with his family. Him flying to Georgia to see me. Taking me gliding…_Oh, the gliding. _That was, without a doubt, my best memory with him. I had never seen him so excited, carefree. Just so _light. _I wish with the utmost wistfulness he could be like that all the time.

There were so many exceptions he made for me – so many firsts, as he called them. Sleeping with me, vanilla sex, Charlie Tango, his parents…Each one obviously the action of a man who cared. Not just a show.

I think about all of the confessions I managed to finagle out of him. The most intriguing of all being the admission about his birth mom – the crack whore, he called her. Even knowing as little as I do, it's still such an insight as to why he is the way he is. Why he feels the need to control everything and everyone around him.

My thoughts stray to the scars I've seen on his chest, and my stomach becomes a little queasy as I remember the conclusion I came to while in Georgia. Someone stubbed cigarettes out on Christian's chest and back. Repeatedly. While he was just a small child.

It's not something I want to even try to imagine. Which just makes me wonder what kind of monster does something like that to begin with. Despite my questions, he never answered me concerning who was responsible so I guess I'll never know if it was his birth mom who did it or someone else he was around during the time before he was adopted.

I can't image what kind of emotional scars he's carrying around because of that horrid time, and I shudder to know what he must have gone through trying to deal with them as a kid, even after the Greys rescued him. _"It's hard growing up in the perfect family when you're not perfect." _

As if he probably didn't have enough issues, then Mrs. R comes along with all of her whips, canes, and only God knows what else, sucking him into a dark, unreachable place. A place where he still is. Unreachable and untouchable. Literally.

I'm still trying to sift through each thought when suddenly, everything is interrupted when I realize someone is standing right where I'm walking. I've kept my head down as I've been lost in thought, walking; so it takes me a second to notice just before I bump into them.

Immediately, my eyes snap up. "Oh, excuse me," I mumble automatically.

But then, my eyes focus and adjust on the person. And my initial shock is quick to turn to a thrilling sense of alarm as my throat closes with trepidation.

_It's ghost girl! _The woman who accosted me outside of SIP this week, and was the star of one of the most disturbing nightmares I've had in my life.

My mouth falls open, and I can feel my eyes about to pop out as I take the sight in. She stands before me, still wearing disheveled, baggy clothes with rumpled dirty hair to match. Her brown eyes are round and twinkling with a look of almost childlike wonder.

"I-," I begin to stutter, but I stop. Not knowing what the hell to say. _What is this? Who the hell is she?_

"You're not there," she says suddenly, her voice just as high and shrill as it was in my dream. My brows crease.

"Where?" I ask carefully, measuring her expression for a clue as to what is going on.

"It's Saturday," she says, sounding like this fact is somehow confusing to her. "And you're not there."

My right foot moves behind me, my body shifting away from her. Even though she doesn't appear to be threat, I can't stop the feeling of anxious unease that runs through me with the way she looks at me.

"Who are you?" I demand slowly, trying not to scare her off. I need to get her talking if I'm going to find out what she wants with me. And better yet, how she seems to know me.

She cocks her head to the side, as if something about my question is highly interesting to her. But she still doesn't answer me as she speaks again.

"I was always there on Saturday," she states almost vehemently, the first real emotion lighting her face and voice.

"Where were you?" I ask very slowly and meticulously. My heart has started pounding troublingly fast. She shakes her head slowly, sadly.

"Why you?" she sighs.

"Do you need help?" I ask very slowly as if to a small child. It doesn't take very much to recognize that this woman – whoever she is – is on edge and very distressed about something.

"No," she finally answers one of my questions. "I need him."

And just like that, she simply turns and walks off, without another word. I stand there, staring like a moron after her. I want to stop her. To demand answers. After all, this is the second time she's just shown up out of the blue, seeming to know exactly who and where I am, rambling about things which don't make any sense.

But I don't. I just stare as she strides swiftly away, turning at a sharp corner which takes her out of my line of sight. I blink, completely disoriented and shocked.

_What the hell? _Finally, I manage to regain my bearings and look away from the point where she disappeared, actually looking around myself for the first time since leaving the hair salon.

I'm not familiar with this part of town yet, and the foreign surroundings suddenly feel almost frightening because of the unsettling experience I just had with ghost girl.

All around me are shops and stores and restaurants – all nice enough. All things I had every intension of enjoying and exploring today, but now I can't even think about staying here. Not when all I want to do is just go home.

Before I left, Ethan made sure I had the number of a cab service so I could call wherever I was and whenever I was ready to leave, so I hurriedly fumble around and dig my phone out, quickly calling.

Once I know someone's on the way, I relax a smidge, but I still can't stop my eyes from flickering and scanning wildly around me, paranoia hovering over me and my teeth on edge.

Thick, strong relief floods through me when I do finally see the taxi pulling up, and I waste no time in scrambling to it. As soon as the door closes, I feel safe again and melt, relieved, into the seat.

The whole drive home, I keep replaying the short confrontation with the brown-eyed mystery girl.

_"I need him." _What in God's name does that mean? Who is she talking about, and what the fuck is she trying to tell me? How does she even know me, and why is she apparently following me?!

_"It's Saturday. And you're not there." _Where? Where the hell does she think I'm supposed to be? Maybe she has the wrong person – has me confused with someone else. She's obviously not entirely to herself.

But as soon as that thought starts to comfort me, I'm reminded of the first thing she said to me a few days ago. _"Are you Anastasia Steele?" _She knew my name, so that means she does know who I am.

I lean my head back, perplexed and ready to just be home behind a locked.

By the time I've reached the apartment, I'm more confused than ever, not able to settle on any reasonable explanation at all.

And as I climb out of the cab and lumber my way into the building, I don't see the Ethan's "Beauty" anywhere, so he must still be out. Half of me is relived and half of me is disappointed. Even though I don't exactly want to be alone right now, I know I need some time to myself so I can concentrate on all of my unfinished thoughts.

I sigh, unlocking the door; my brain simply feels worn from over-use and overloading it with a bunch of shit that I have no answers to.

I step through the door, letting it shut behind me as I drop my purse on the little side table and shrug out of my jacket.

Looking around the empty place, I suddenly feel unbearably lonely. But at the same time, the loneliness is also what I crave – to just have some me time to focus on sorting my shit out. Of not having anything or anyone else to distract me – even if distraction is what keeps the stabbing pain at bay.

With a heavy sigh, I slowly trudge in the general direction of my bedroom. Even though I'm still highly disturbed by the confrontation with the pale stranger on the street, I still can't help it when my thoughts stray back to Christian again as opposed to trying to figure out who she is.

Picking back up where I left off, I start recalling my musings about the younger Christian and the things that would have led him to where he is now. Just a small piece of what he told me does tell me why he's so controlling. He didn't have control as a kid, and now he's overcompensating. Any idiot can see that.

But what I'm having trouble understanding is why he's so…so…unemotional. Why he seems to avoid showing or receiving any emotion of any kind – well, anything except anger or irritation that is. I recall the way he was around his family. Even with his own mother, he was so stiff, formal.

The only hint of affection I saw was toward his little sister. Which fills me with the overwhelming urge to know more about why.

There has to be more to the story than I know. Much more. A shudder rips through me as I walk into my bedroom as I consider what must have happened to Christian as a child that he would _still _be living with the consequences of it 23 years later.

Sadness and sympathy make my knees weak and my chest ache; visions of a small boy with copper hair and big gray eyes full of fear are all I can see in my mind.

My already fragile heart fractures and starts bleeding all over again as I despair over the fact that I couldn't help my complicated Fifty Shades, help him with whatever unhealed wounds he still carries – not that I never really got the opportunity in the first place. And now I never will.

A draft of air brushes across my face as I amble numbly toward my closet, and the feel of chilled steaks on my skin makes me notice that tears have left water marks on my cheeks. The realization just causes even more to well up. I swipe at them uselessly, opening my closet door in hunt of something comfortable. I just want to curl up with something warm and reassuring for the rest of the day.

I reach in and pull out the softest thing my fingers find, but as I'm turning away, my eyes settle on something I've thankfully forgotten. My throat closes and my muscles freeze, my gaze locking on the black material along with a silver glinting of foil.

I stare, entranced, for a long moment, my eyes unblinking and wide. But when my fingers suddenly close around both objects, holding them close to my face, I have no memory of even moving.

I swallow hard, my mind not quite working as I move mechanically toward the bed. There's another little time gap before I find myself sitting perching on the edge of my mattress.

I single out the foil, grabbing each side it with my hands and straightening it until it regains it shape and reveals the object it represents. _Charlie Tango. _

Two more hot tears slide all the way down my face until they curve around my jaw, but I barely feel it. I'm too busy staring at the deflated balloon that I couldn't make myself get rid of.

For the first several days, I had slept with it under my pillow, for much the same reason I kept the card that had come with the white roses. It was like it was my last remnant of the time I spent with Christian. Like the only bit of proof left that I didn't dream the whole thing.

But during a particularly bad bout of hysterics, my view of the pathetic-looking object became something else – the source of pain instead of comfort. But I still couldn't get rid of it completely. So I just got it out of sight, stuffing it where I kept another painful reminder.

The thought makes my focus shift to the black piece of clothing in my lap. Laying Charlie Tango aside on the bed, I move in slow-mo as I pick up the suit jacket.

I've had it ever since the night I met Christian at the Heathman for dinner to discuss the hard and soft limits. He had draped it over my shoulders, and I had taken it home with me.

I had packed it with my own things during the move to Seattle, but had forgotten it since then until I was unpacking some clothes. As soon as I found it, I moved it out of sight as fast as possible, not wanting to even look at it. And it was soon forgotten about again.

Until now.

I stare at it, mesmerized and unable to look away. Then in another mindless moment, the jacket is coming closer to my face before I realize that my hands are moving.

Tentatively, my chin lifts so that my nose inclines toward the collar. I hold my face there for a long moment before I take a tiny sniff.

And that's it. My heart shatters into a million pieces and a sob breaks loose from my throat.

_It still smells like him. _It's not as delicious as the real thing, but it's still definitely there. Three weeks of being with me hasn't been enough to rid it of the affect if having been on Christian's skin. The smell is still there, fragrant and intoxicating, bringing with it an avalanche of memories, all going across my mind too quickly to settle on just one.

A glutton for punishment, I simply bring the jacket closer until it's pressed against my face. I let myself fall backward onto the bed, soaking the expensive material with my tears, each inhale and whiff of the familiar scent like a painful stab to the heart.

And for the first time in days, I surrender to the grief, letting myself sob. Through the awful sadness, I feel a tiny bit of surprise at this level of emotion. I thought I was past this part – the emotional breakdowns and heart shattering episodes. I thought I was making progress, moving on.

But laying here, clutching desperately at both black lapels, I realize differently. I realize that I haven't moved on at all. I've just been happily trying to distract myself from the pain long enough to cause the illusion. And Christian's irritating actions provoking me have just helped me feel anger instead of sadness.

_I've been lying to myself. _If anything, I'm more heartbroken than ever after what happened last night. The only man I've ever loved, ever been intimate with telling me he wants me back.

Even now, my body physically aches at the thought – hurts because I still know that I can't go back. Even if I'm dying to. I'm acting out of self-preservation, not spite. If this is what it feels like after only a matter of a few weeks, then how much worse will it be when something else happens three months from now – something that proves without a doubt that I can't be what he needs me to be, as if I don't already know.

How much deeper can I possibly get myself until I won't be able to get out at all? How emotionally invested can I be expected to get in a relationship with no future until there's nothing left of myself at all?

And that's exactly why I simply curl up with the jacket and don't even bother quelling the torrent of tears.

I have no idea how long I stay at it, but eventually the stream of tears lessens somewhat from my swollen eyes, and my sobs die down to just sniffles.

And that's how Ethan finds me sometime later.

I'm so exhausted and achy from the meltdown that I don't have the energy to turn when I hear the bedroom door open behind me. I hear shuffling footsteps pause right at the edge of the bed for a long moment before I feel a wide hand rest on my shoulder.

I still don't move; don't even wince in dread at him seeing me like this. My emotions are so shredded and spent that there's nothing left.

I feel the dip of the bed first as he sits behind where I'm curled onto my side, neither of us saying a word. After another long moment, one arm slides beneath me while the other moves to my waist.

With a gentle strength that makes protest impossible, Ethan uses the placement to pull me up into a sitting position just before he brings me closer to him. The jacket slides from my numb fingers.

Ethan doesn't hesitate as he urges my face to his shoulder, his arms circling me. The movement is abrupt and takes me by surprise, but I still catch a glimpse of the utter understanding and comprehension on his face. He needs no explanation as to why I'm crying, even if the jacket and balloon weren't on the bed with me. And the fact that he still doesn't say a word somehow proves it.

Ethan's arms constrict, hugging me tight. In a way, it's nice because it creates the illusion that I'm not completely falling apart – that he's holding me together piece by piece.

But after a moment, it's terrible because it just makes the violent weeping start back up. I hate it. Hate it because I no longer feel comfort in the embrace.

Because everything inside me is screaming for a different pair of arms.


	29. Chapter 29

"I'm s-sorry," I eventually blubber against Ethan's shoulder, the weeping subsiding to mere sniffles. My heart still aches with mournful sadness, but my eyes are simply too sore and spent to produce any more tears, and I'm too exhausted to continue letting anymore of my grief spill out.

Ethan is still hugging me and still hasn't said a word. And now that I've calmed down enough to use a little rationality, I'm left realizing that I'm sitting here in the arms of my…well, I'm not exactly sure what to call Ethan…but at the very least, I'm wrapped in an embrace of a guy that I've kissed; a guy who has admitted to liking me for over three years; and a guy who I've found myself attracted to in the last few days.

But what makes that fact suddenly awkward is that he's not only seeing me like this, but he's also sitting here comforting me in the full knowledge that the reason for it all is my ex – who wants me back, and who I've just realized I'm not nearly as over as I thought. Okay, not over at all is perhaps most accurate.

God, could my life get anymore complicated? _You've no one to blame by yourself, Steele. _My subconscious rears her ugly head again. Not that I need her input – I already know that I'm the cause for this whole mess. I'm the one who made it more complicated than it already was by bringing Ethan into this.

And for the first time since then, I actually feel a stab of regret for doing so. Not because I haven't valued the time I've spent with him or how much he's helped me simply by being a friend. But because I suddenly realize how selfish I'm being.

And as soon as that thought completes itself, another emotion suddenly takes over, somehow managing to break through the crushing sense of despondency. Guilt.

But before my musing go any further, Ethan finally says the first thing in forever. "Do you apologize every time you cry in front of someone? Or just me?" His voice is colored with wry amusement, but the undercurrent of sincere sympathy is still very audible.

He makes no move to release me, but with one last very unladylike sniffle, I gather enough nerve to pull away enough to see his face. Reluctantly, I peek up to see a troubled pair of eyes underneath a brow pulled together to form a worried little V. All of a sudden, the feeling of guilt gets even stronger.

I swallow hard in an attempt to strengthen my voice. "I'm serious," I say, grimacing at how hoarse I am. I clear my throat. "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

The V between his eyebrows turns from one of concern to confusion. "Shouldn't have to deal with what?" he asks, actually sounding a little affronted.

"This," I answer, gesturing to myself. Now, he looks downright offended as he moves his hands until each one is resting on my shoulders, squeezing as if to get a point across. "Ana, I'm the one who came in here," he points out. "I could've just left you alone when I heard you crying."

"Still," I insist, swiping at my face and wincing when the raw skin smarts. "I don't want you to feel obligated to come running every time I get upset, thinking you have to comfort me."

Ethan huffs, sounding annoyed. "Do you always make such a habit of being so negative about yourself?"

I look at him, confused.

"I'm more than capable of making my own decisions, Ana," he says. "If I didn't _want _to be here; if I didn't _want _to comfort you, then I wouldn't be. I'm here because I want to be, not because I feel obligated."

I sit up, effectively pulling away from him. I loosely cross my arms, suddenly feeling unbearably self-conscious and painfully insecure.

"I know that," I say, feebly trying to get my point across. "But this isn't fair to you, Ethan. _I'm _not being fair to you."

Beside me, Ethan shifts and releases a heavy sigh. "Ana, I told you – we're still just friends. You have no reason to feel any responsibility to me. But I _am _starting to see that you're in a lot deeper than I thought."

I look back over at him, feeling the question on my face. He raises one eyebrow and looks pointed at the jacket beside me. "I'm going to take a guess and say you're not just crying over finding a jacket?"

I glance back down at my left hand in my lap, realizing that my right has moved back to the jacket and is clutched around one side of it. I loosen my grip, but before I can respond Ethan moves a little closer, bringing us side by side and putting his hand on my shoulder.

"You wanna tell me exactly what happened last night?"

I swallow uncomfortably, fiercely starting to worry the expensive suit material between my restless fingers. _NDA…NDA…NDA…NDA…_I chew on my lip. What do I say?

Finally, "We talked." I give a little shrug, noncommittal.

"You don't say," Ethan remarks dryly beside me, and I repress a wince because I know that my answer isn't going to cut it and my brain is still a little too warped to think on my feet very quickly.

I sigh again, this time resigned. _Well, I supposed the NDA was only to protect his little Red Room secret._

"He wants me back," I whisper, the words barely audible as they claw their way out. It's one thing to know it, but to say it out loud somehow makes it even more painfully real. But the feeling only lasts a second before Ethan distracts me by giving a loud snort.

"What?" I ask, shocked. He shrugs, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

"I just thought you already knew that. I mean, I just assumed it was obvious."

I look back down, heat rising to my cheeks as I realize how this situation looks like to someone on the outside – to someone under the assumption that Christian was ever _just _my boyfriend, who I had a normal relationship with.

Because I know better, I'm able to see everything for what it is – the endeavors of a mega-control freak to do exactly that. Control. Me. Which happens to be the one thing he can't. Which is driving him insane, and in turn, making him drive me insane.

But to anyone else, I suppose it would look like an ex-boyfriend being…well, I guess an ex-boyfriend being a desperate loon trying to reach out to his lost love and acting like a jerk in the process. _Heh. Lost love…if only. _A sigh of longing escapes me before I can even stop it.

But for Ethan's benefit, I go along with it. "I guess. It was just shocking hearing him say it."

"And I take it that by 'shocking', you actually mean painful?"

My eyes snap back to his, and his lips twist upward a little ruefully, giving me a very knowing look. I nod, unable to find my voice, not really knowing what to say anyway.

"And I'm also guessing you said 'no'?" he asks, his tone dropping lower. Again, I nod.

Ethan leans a little closer and tilts his head. "Why? I mean, I figured that's what you would've wanted."

"It is," I answer automatically, honestly. "But it would just be the same thing all over again. It wouldn't work."

"And how do you know that?" Ethan presses kindly.

"Because we want different things. _We're _simply too different."

"People and their goals can change," he offers.

"Maybe. But Christian is…very set in his ways."

"So you're saying you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"

I run both hands through my freshly cut hair in exasperation. "I don't know what I'm trying to say anymore. I'm so damn confused! Especially now that you seem to be trying to change my mind. Whose side are you on, anyway?"

Ethan smiles a little apologetically. "Yours." He pats my shoulder. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm not exactly Grey's biggest fan. Or vice versa – I think we proved that last night. And I'm not by any means trying to tell you to take him back. I'm not saying anything – that's the point. It's the first rule to giving anyone advice. You have to be impartial as possible. I'm just trying to understand, and get you to look at every aspect so you at least feel more at peace with whatever decision you make."

"So what? I'm a case study now?" I say grumble peevishly.

"No. You're my _friend_," he presses. "And I'm just trying to help."

I sigh, remorseful. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Ana, only you know what to do. I can only tell you what I've seen in the last few days."

"And what's that?"

He sucks in a deep breath. "I see a guy who is acting like an absolute ass," he says matter-of-factly.

My lips quirk despite myself. "Ethan," I say dryly. "Your sense of deduction is impeccable."

He smiles briefly. "_However,_" he goes on as if I hadn't said anything. "He's Christian _Grey. _My best guess is that he's never had to do anything more than flash a smile and whatever woman he wants falls at his feet. He's probably never had to work for a woman's affection before."

I make a face at the thought of Christian and "_whatever woman he wants_" falling at his feet. I know it's hypothetical, but I still don't like the feeling it incites. _You did the same thing _my subconscious reminds me, giving me a stern look. I sigh. Can't argue with that assessment. Ethan goes on, oblivious to my wandering thoughts.

"He's a business mogul, Ana. A very successful one at that. Business is the only thing he's had to work at. And he's accustomed to either buying someone out or bullying them into doing what he wants. So now that he's having to work for you-"

"He's trying to use the same tactics," I interrupt with a strong sense of understanding, this somehow making sense in a way that it didn't before.

"Exactly," says with a nod. "He tried the 'buying out' thing with the necklace and probably the car. And when that didn't work, he moved on to bullying. Showing up and confronting you, buying your company – it all sounds like the same motivation of dragging you closer when you refused to do so willingly. Which to us mere mortals, just comes off as being an ass." He says the last part leaning over and speaking as if he's telling me a secret.

"That's better," Ethan notes, satisfied when my lips curve in a small smile. But it only lasts a second before it fades, and I sigh, still in the same situation.

"That may be all true, but it still doesn't change anything. Christian is still Christian," I vent with quiet despair.

"And who is Christian exactly? What is it about him that makes you so gun-shy about him?"  
I huff, at a loss. _Because he feels the need to beat me. Because he has a hefty list of rules, and an ever heftier load of baggage. And because I'm so in love with him that I think it's going to consume me. _I go for the simplest and sanest-sounding answer. "Because my feelings for him are a lot stronger than his are for me," I surmise. "And I don't see that changing even if I go back."

"_How_ do you know that, though? Has he told you that?"

"I-," I open my mouth then close it, sighing. "No, but-"

"But what?" Ethan presses. "The answer is you _don't _know that. So what else? That can't be the only thing."

I huff, starting to get aggravated, but not at Ethan, more with myself. I shrug. "Can't you tell? Christian is so…so…overwhelming. And intense. And domineering. And I'm not sure I can handle it all. I'm not sure if I can be the person he needs." I cringe at how much simpler this answer sounds compared to the real one. This one just sounds so…simple. And in a way, it would be – if it weren't for the tiny little problem of the Red Room of Pain.

Ethan stares at me for along moment, not saying anything. He tilts his head to the side, thinking. Finally, "Okay," he says slowly, giving one deliberate nod. "That's why you don't want to go back. So tell me now why you do. You fell in love with him for a reason, so it can't be all bad."

I sigh wearily, the question bringing back the ebbing sense of loss. "Christian's…" I trail off, not knowing where to begin. "A good man," I conclude. "On the outside, he's so arrogant and severe. But on the inside – what little I've seen of it – he's different. He can be so kind and caring and, when he wants, sweet." My mind flashes back to the gliding in Georgia, and my heart constricts. _Yeah, definitely sweet. _My voice drops as I go on. "And I think he's been hurt more than he lets on. He's an extremely hard man to deal with, but he doesn't know any other way to be. It's just how he is. But I'm not sure if I can handle it. One second, he's Dr. Jackal, and in the next, he's Mr. Hyde; one minute, he wants one thing, then he tells me he wants another. It's just so confusing all the time!" I toss one hand up in exasperation.

"That is quite the problem."

"Yeah," I huff. "You're telling me."

Ethan sighs, putting his hand on my shoulder again. "Look, I'm not going to try to give you advice here. Only you know what's best for you. But in my opinion, I do think he at least cares about you more than you seem to think. I mean, a man like Grey doesn't put this much time and effort into going after something – or in this case, someone – unless he thinks they're worth it. Unless he _cares_. Yes, he's going about everything in just about the worst way possible. Then again, who knows? I might be wrong – he might be doing it just for the sake of being an asshole. I don't know the guy. I'm just going off what you've told me."

I look over at him. "Shouldn't you be arguing against him? I mean, you seem to be forgetting that you have a part in this too."

Ethan nods, his lips flatten a smidge. "I'm not arguing any side here, Ana. Like I said, I'm just trying to get you to see every possible angle. Besides, I _did _have a part in this situation. But not anymore."

My eyes pop wide with surprise. "What do you mean?"

He smiles kindly and little remorsefully. "I'm starting to see that this is a lot more complicated than I thought. And I'm also starting to see that adding me to the grand scheme of things was probably horrible timing."

I sigh, the feeling of guilt washing over me potently. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been fair to you. You deserve better."

Ethan snorts. "Are you always so self-depreciating?"

"What?"

"I'm not saying it was horrible timing for my sake. I'm saying it was for yours. With me in the picture, it just complicates everything more than it is for you. And that's my fault. I didn't see how serious this is. So all I did was probably confuse you more."

I blink, surprised. "What? No. I'm the one who should've warned you. But it's just, when I'm around you, it's easier. I have something else to think about. And you're always so happy that you made me feel happy too."

He gives me an indulgent smile. "I distracted you?" he guesses my exact thoughts from earlier. I turn red with embarrassment, because I know he's right.

"Hey, it's alright," he says when I don't respond.

"No, it's not," I protest weakly.

"Ana, we're friends," he emphasizes. "That's what friends are for – to be there for you when you need them. If you remember correctly, I came onto you. Not the other way around."

"But I let you – knowing that I was in shape to be making that decision."

Ethan sighs, shaking his head as if this is going nowhere. "It doesn't really matter. Either way, it's not an issue anymore. We'll just put the brakes on it. I think even taking it slow is probably too fast right now."  
"What about you?" I ask.

"What about me?" He looks confused.

"Is that what you want?"

"What I want is for you to do whatever's best for you. Yes, I like you. But why would I want to be anything more than friends, when I'm not sure if that's what would make you happy? When _you're _not even sure if that's what would make you happy?"

"I just don't want you to feel…," I trail off momentarily. "Shortchanged."

Ethan chuckles. "I don't," he says emphatically. "We're just friends, Ana. I never expected anything more than that. Even if I had, you have to do what's best for you and stop worrying about what everybody else wants."

"So where does than leave us now?"

"Exactly where we started," he says simply. "Friends. I'm still here for you if you need to talk." He suddenly gives me a sideways glance with a little twinkle in his eyes. "But if you need someone to kiss or sleep with, then I think it's best you look elsewhere for right now." His attempt at humor really does nothing for my deposition, but I smile half-heartedly anyway.

"Don't worry about it, Ana," he says, serious again. "Nothing's changed. Not for us anyway."

I sigh, nodding. "So that's it? You're breaking up with me?" I can't help but smirk at my own attempt at a joke. It works. Ethan tosses his head back with a loud chuckle that's strong enough to shake the bed.

He looks back to me with eyes glimmering with mirth, then shrugs. "I guess I am. But don't worry – it's not you, it's me." This time, my lips curve into a natural, heart-felt smile. Taking me by surprise, Ethan abruptly stands and offers me his hand.

"Come on. I'll make it up to by taking you out for another ride – you can drive again. Besides, we need to go out and celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" I ask, slowly getting to my feet, my body still stiff from sobbing.

"Well, first of all – this snazzy new doo of yours," he quips, gesturing to my now disheveled hair. "And the fact that I'm pretty sure I found a new place already."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yeah it's prefect, and I can move in sometime next week if all goes well."

"That's good."

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p'. "So turn the frown upside down, Steele. You'll work it out – stop worrying."

I sigh as we inch to the door. "I wish it were that easy." I give him an exaggerated look of speculation. "It'd be easier if you'd use some of that shrink training and tell me what the hell to do."

Ethan surprises me again when he stops and turns toward me, an appraising look in his eyes. "Do you really want to know what my advice would be?" he asks. I nod silently, and all playfulness leaves his face, leaving behind a dead-serious expression which I've never seen from him before.

He puts both hands on my shoulders. "I would say that I think you shouldn't sell yourself short, no matter what. And I would tell you not to settle for anything less than you deserve just because you're scared of getting hurt in the long run. But most importantly, my advice would be to listen to this." He points to the area over my heart. "Instead of this." He touches my temple, letting his finger stay there for a moment before dropping it. He gazes at me somberly for a long second, letting me absorb that. Then, just as suddenly, the little smirk is back, and he leans down to me. "But that's only _if _I gave you my educated opinion," he whispers conspiratorially.

And just like that, he turns and walks through the door. "Come on. If we hurry, we'll have time to go all the way to Elliot Park Bay before we eat."

I blink, staring after him, still shocked. And as confused as ever.


	30. Chapter 30

_"I miss you."_

_"I want _you_. All of you."_

_"But it'll be different this time. We can start over."_

_"Crazy for you, baby."_

_"Ana! Anyone in there?"_

"YO! ANA!"

I'm jolted back to the present, jerking as my daydreams vanish into thin air like a mist. My eyes dart back and forth, focusing on what's in front of me instead of what I'm remembering. I'm met with the sight of two pairs of eyes gazing at me.

A green pair with understanding. And a dark brown pair with confusion.

"You alright, Ana?" Jose asks, his thick brows twitching together. "You seem a little off. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I nod, perhaps a little too vigorously. "I'm fine. Just spaced out there for a second. What were you saying?"

Jose stares at me for another long moment before he seems mollified. "I said I'd better be going."

"What?" I ask, glancing at the clock. "You just got here."

"I've been here for two hours, Ana," Jose says, but I can tell by his voice that he's pleased I didn't notice the time passing. Except he has no idea that the reason is I've spent pretty much the whole time in my own brain instead of actually enjoying his company. The thought makes me feel guilty, bringing a touch of heat to my face.

Jose goes on, oblivious to my mind once again wandering off on its own. "Besides, I told you, I have to drop off a few pieces that were bought and I have a meeting with someone who wants me to take some landscape shots to decorate their new house or something like that."

"Yeah, sorry," I say quickly. "I know you're busy. I just wish we had more time."

Jose smiles happily, and I start to question whether I said that a little too warmly. _Geez! Is everything I do with men wrong? _

"Me too. I tell you, Ana – WSU just isn't the same without you there."

I smile politely. "I'm sure you're doing fine. You have the whole photography thing going now. You're gunna be famous. Then you'll be too busy fending off the crazed fan girls to notice I'm gone."

Jose rolls his eyes, obviously calling my attempt to steer his attention to _other _girls. "Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever," he says, heading for the door while Ethan and I follow him. He stops at the door, holding his arms open for a hug. "It was good seeing you, Ana," he says when I return the gesture.

"Yeah. You too."

"Are you sure everything's okay? You still seem really…different," he says with concern in his dark eyes when I pull away.

"I'm fine, Jose," I answer even though I want to shout _Of course I'm different! Nothing's been the same since I met Christian freaking Grey!_

"Ana's just worried about getting the rest of the place settled for Kate tomorrow," Ethan adds with a meaningful glance at me. I return it gratefully, latching onto that excuse.

"Yeah. Tell Kate I said hi too," he says. I think I nod, and a couple more pleasantries are exchanged. Jose and Ethan do some complicated handshake, then before I know it, Jose is on the other side of the door. Leaving me wondering if he was really here at all.

I still can't tell. My mind is such a mess, that it's a wonder I can remember my own name.

I've been on autopilot, more or less, for the last twenty four hours or so. Ever since the talk with Ethan. Ever since his would-be advice.

It seems like every time I think I have it figured out, something else happens to throw me right back off track and make me start all over again. _Or maybe you never got anywhere in the first place _my subconscious reminds me. Oh my lovely sub! She's been more active in the last day than in my entire life. It's also surprising that, at this point, I haven't started answering her out loud.

But again – as always – she's right. I sigh, realizing that you can't be made to "start over" when you never left the starting line at all in the first place.

But in the very least the main point of my previous thought is still true – just when I'm starting to find a rhythm, a calm piece of ground, I'm thrown off again. Everything from the first time seeing Christian on the street to the last time I saw him outside the club. Every incident has just left me reeling, and my brain and worn-out emotion haven't had any time to catch up. Until now. Now, they're all catching up to me – at the same time.

And now, there's too many, and as soon as I deal with one emotion, another one just pops up to take its place. So I'm not only even more confused, but I'm irritated. At myself. Which is just one more emotion to deal with. And around we go again…an endless cycle that is driving me insane. Maybe mostly due to the fact that after all the agonizing over the last day, and I'm still not a single breath closer to coming to any conclusions. If anything, I'm further from one than I was to begin with!

_Ugh! I'm going to have an aneurism! _

I rub my temples with my fingertips, hoping to massage the tumultuous thoughts out of my mind since forcing them away has yet to work.

And for some reason, the action reminds me of Ethan touching the side of my head lightly with his own fingertip yesterday as he surmised his best opinion for me. And around once more…

I go into the kitchen, my target a cold water bottle as my brain tries yet again to make sense of it – to somehow meld it into my own opinions and emotions.

But I can't.

I can't because his advice is the exact opposite of what my opinion has been all along. Yesterday, Ethan told me to listen to my heart instead of my head. But that's what I've been doing all along. And not just now. Hell, that's what I've done my entire life. I've always used my brain to make decisions. Always turned to logic and facts and the possible consequences that would result from a decision. It's how I decided to follow my mom when she first got remarried after Ray. It's how I decided to go back to Ray. It's how I decided to go to WSU. It's how I've made every decision.

Even when I first met Christian, when I was overwhelmed with conflicting desire and fear, I still ultimately used logic to make my decisions. I weighed the options, compared the risk with reward, and went for risk, deciding it was worth the possible reward.

But only now is that method becoming a problem. Because in all of those situations, my heart always told me the same thing my mind did. The two always agreed. Now, they don't.

Now, my brain is telling me one thing while my heart is screaming the complete opposite. And I'm left in the middle of it, torn and being ripped apart every minute by it.

I yank my hands through my hair, getting even more agitated when I realize that this isn't a habit I picked up on my own…

"You alright?" Ethan asks from behind me as I jerk open the fridge and snatch out a water bottle.

I huff, blowing my bangs out of my face as I wheel around and lean heavily against the fridge door.

"No," I sigh, taking a long gulp of water. "Not even remotely."

He smiles kindly as he comes closer, walking around the island. "Still warring with yourself, huh?" I nod sullenly, my chin jutting out in a pout.

"And still no closer to an answer?"

I shake my head the other way this time, and he nods understandingly. "I didn't figure you would be. You're too much of a thinker."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"You think about every little thing, Ana. Over-analyze it to death. But then again – most women do that."

"Yeah well, if women over-think, then I guess men just _don't _think," I grumble, not in the mood to be trifled with, even if he doesn't mean anything by it.

Ethan chuckles, amused by my comeback. "Good point."

I stay silent for a long moment, stewing a bit. Finally, "What do you expect?" I burst out, fed up with staying silent. Ethan blinks, clearly surprised. "I mean, look at all the shit I have to consider. It's so goddamn overwhelming I can't even stand myself anymore for thinking about it constantly. But I don't know what else to do." I fix him with a sardonic stare. "And that 'listen to your heart' stuff sounds all good and fine in theory. But that's just about where it ends, by the way. So you might wanna rethink your therapy method. Cause I'm not finding anything even remotely helpful in it."

Ethan's face soften despite by my snappy tone. "But that's the problem, Ana. You're not supposed to _find _anything in it. You're supposed to _do _it. Plain and simple."

I sigh, knowing this going nowhere fast. There's no way to make him see my point – not when there's too much he doesn't know. Too much I still haven't even made sense of yet.

"Hey," Ethan says, much closer now which makes me realize that my eyes have scrunched shut with effort. I open them, seeing him standing in front of me. "Stop doing this to yourself. You're doing more harm than good."

"I can't help it," I lament.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. I think I may have just made it worse. I'm starting to think I should've just let you cry it out, and left it at that."

"No," I disagree. "I needed to hear it. I needed the perspective change. The only problem is it's given me even more to over-analyze." I smile wryly.

"Do you think that talking to him some more would help?" he asks, tentatively, ducking his head.

I sigh heavily, my shoulders dropping. "I can't say I haven't thought about calling him," I admit. "I even picked up the phone late last night. But I chickened out. I wouldn't even know where to start, and I don't know what I want to say – or if I even have anything to say anymore." I grimace, recalling the near-anxiety attack I had last night. I was up till almost two in the morning, pacing my room like an angry tiger, my thoughts racing faster and faster with every step until it felt like I was going explode.

Ethan nods. "Well, I know I've said it before, but you know I'm here if you want to talk some more," he offers.

"Yeah. I know, Ethan. But you've done enough. I think I need to try to figure this out on my own right now."

"Offer still stands."

I manage to give him a half-hearted smile. "Thanks." He puts both hands on my shoulders.

"You'll get it straightened, Steele. I know you will. Just hang in there." He doesn't give me any time to form a response, before he pulls me into a light hug. I can feel the reassurance he's trying to communicate. My arms go around his waist and I give him a hard squeeze, communicating my appreciation.

Despite the maelstrom going on in my head, I do recognize the gratitude I feel that I still have Ethan, despite the whole "more" thing not working as I had planned. Now, all I feel is relief that we can still be the same. And above all, I'm just plain glad that I don't have to worry about all of those possibilities on top of all this other shit.

"Uh – are we interrupting something?" a very, very familiar female voice says from the other side of the room.

Immediately, Ethan and I jump apart, startled to find that we're not alone all of a sudden. My eyes dart in the direction the voice came from, and sure enough – a beautiful, tanned, strawberry blond is standing with a tall blond hunk behind her. Both wide-eyed as they stare at us.

Kate and Elliot.

My mouth hits the floor with shock, and when I manage to muster the brain power necessary to look at Ethan, his expression is much the same.

"I-I thought you weren't coming back till tomorrow," I stammer.

Kate takes two very slow steps forward, eyeing the two of us carefully, suspiciously. "We wanted to surprise you guys," she says, talking slowly. "We were supposed to come back Friday, but we decided to stay a little longer."

Finally, my shock dissolves enough for another emotion to take over. Delight.

My mouth stretches into a huge grin, and I narrowly suppress a happy squeal as I dart toward my best friend, who I haven't seen for over two weeks.

She returns my smile just before I catch her in a huge hug.

Kate hugs back, squeezing my shoulders hard, and the contact all of a sudden makes me want to cry. Both in relief that she's finally back, and despair because I know I have so much that I haven't told her. "I missed you, Kate," I whisper, hugging her tighter.

"I've missed you too," she says. "Barbados was fun, but I'm glad I'm home."

We both loosen our grip, and I use the split second to reign in my emotions just before we release each other.

Kate keeps her hands on my shoulders as she gives me a hard once-over, her eyebrows pulling together at whatever she sees. But before she can comment on it, Ethan is right behind me, getting his sister's attention just as Elliot comes from the other side.

His bright blue eyes and shock of blond hair are even more prominent now since his skin has been darkened with the sun.

He flashes me a cute smile, holding out a long arm for a hug. "Hey, Ana."

"Hey, Elliot. Have a good time?"

"Fantastic," he says emphatically, gathering me up in a big bear hug. "Next time, you and Christian _have _to come too. You'd love it." Elliot sets me down, and I flounder momentarily. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see Ethan shoot me a look, but I ignore it. Mostly because Elliot just goes on, oblivious.

"How is my dear old baby brother doing, anyway? I tried calling him yesterday, but he wouldn't answer. Is he giving you too much trouble?" _So, he really doesn't know. _I vaguely wondered a few days ago if word would've gotten back to Elliot. I had doubted it, but now I know for sure.

"Uh…," I stammer, going completely red-faced. For some reason, I find myself looking to Ethan as if for help. But all he can do is offer me a lift of his brows in encouragement. It doesn't completely escape my notice that Kate's eyes flash between the two of us, and they widen at whatever she's seeing. Or thinks she's seeing.

Finally, I sigh in defeat. "Christian and I aren't together anymore," I manage to mutter, looking down at my hands.

Obviously, Kate is the first to pounce. "What?" she demands, making me look up just with her tone. Her green eyes are flashing with reproach. "Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Um. Not long after you left, and I just didn't want to say anything. I didn't want you concerned about anything going on back here when you had a vacation to be enjoying." I shrug, praying she accepts this answer.

"You should have told me," she says, putting her hands on my shoulders and shaking me a little.

"I just did," I point out, trying to make my tone light. She frowns at me, and I drop my eyes. However, the action brings my gaze back to Elliot. Only to find him frowning – yes, Elliot frowning – at me with a troubled look in his azure eyes. Turning red again, I drop my eyes, feeling unbearably awkward as I realize this is his brother I'm talking about.

"So how was the rest of the trip since I left?" Ethan suddenly starts up, coming to my rescue as always. I smile gratefully at him, as this seems to distract Kate for now.

Kate and Elliot move their luggage further into the apartment, and we move to the living room, all making small talk for a while.

Finally after some time, Elliot is the first to interrupt. "Baby," he says, looking over at Kate. "I need to go by my place for a while before we go out for dinner, okay?"

"Okay," she answers happily, looking up at him with adoration as he stands. _Well, it seems those feeling haven't changed. _The thought makes me suddenly pea green with envy as I watch him plant a soft kiss on her upraised lips.

"Just give me a couple hours to take care of some stuff, and I'll be back. Then we'll all go out. Catch up with each other," he says walking to the door. And because I'm watching him go, I notice when he glances right at me – still wearing that unsettling little frown – before quickly glancing away and ducking out.

I'm just looking away, confused, when Ethan suddenly hops up too. "I think I'll go out for some fresh air," he announces. "I know you ladies probably want some alone time to dish out the newest gossip."

It's all garbage of course – he knows Kate and I have _a lot _to talk about. Preferably alone. But I can't help shooting him a nervous glance, a sense of panic setting in. I'm not sure I'm ready to deal with the Katherine Kavanaugh Inquisition.

But, I don't have anymore time to think about it, because ready or not, it's coming. And Ethan's going – with one last goodbye, he's sauntering out, leaving me staring at the closed door for a long moment.

Then, my attention is snapped back when Kate darts from her place in the chaise to right beside me on the sofa. She sits right in front of me and gives me her sternest "no-nonsense" glare.

"Alright," she snaps. "Talk."


	31. Chapter 31

"Oh my God, Ana!" Kate explodes. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me any of this?"

I sigh, starting to get emotional. I shrug uselessly. "I just didn't want to spoil your vacation in any way, I guess."

"Ana," she chides, scooting closer. "You're my best friend. You're supposed to tell me these things. I wouldn't have stayed longer had I known you needed me."

"Exactly!" I point out. "I knew you'd want to come back for me, and I didn't want that."

She sighs, shaking her head sadly at me. "I'm so sorry, Ana. I can't believe you've had to deal with all this shit by yourself."

"I haven't been by myself," I remind her.

She shakes her head more vigorously. "Ethan, Ana? Seriously? I mean first Christian Grey, then my brother? Jesus, girl! Are you wearing a new perfume laced with pheromones or something?"

I snort, rolling my eyes. "Ethan and I are still just friends."

"Still. Jeez. I'm sorry. It's just so – so – weird, I guess. You know – picturing it. The two of you. I mean my best friend and my brother?" She scrunches her nose, and I can't help but smile.

After a moment of silence, she speaks softly. "So what are you gunna do?"

I look back at her helplessly and shrug. "I don't know." Her face lights with sympathy, and she uses the hand that she's gripping to pull my arm out further, inspecting the bruise I showed her. Because of Jose's visit, I put on a light long-sleeved cardigan to cover it, but pushed back the sleeve when I recounted the experience to Kate.

"What about your job?" she asks quietly, gently pulling the sleeve back down.

"I'm gunna start looking this week," I sigh. "I should have already been on it, but things have just been so overwhelming that I haven't really thought much about it."

She nods. "Are you sure you're okay, though?" she asks, scrutinizing me. "I mean, you look…different. You've lost a ton of weight. I like your hair," she adds.

I frown momentarily. "No, I'm not sure I'm okay," I tell her honestly. "But I will be." The last part was only a half-lie…because I'm not sure if it's true anymore or not.

"What about Grey?" she asks, more severely. "Are you sure you don't want me to kick his ass? Cause you know I will. I gotta tazer and an alter ego. You say the word, and I'll take them both and give Grey what-for."

My lips curve into a smile. "No," I say, amused. "It's okay. Besides, even if we did that," I add. "I think the alter-ego would be enough to scare him shit-less. Without the tazer."

Kate smiles, then turns somber again. "I'm serious, Ana. Did he do something to you?"

I look away, hoping I'm not as transparent as I feel under her penetrating gaze. "Not the way you're probably thinking. It just didn't work. Plain and simple. It happens all the time."

She sighs heavily, leaning back into the couch. "I wonder what Elliot is making of the news."

"What do you mean?"

She looks back to me. "Well, while we were away – I tried to get a better feel for Christian by talking to Elliot some. But really the only thing he had to say was that he'd never seem him the way he was with you. He said everybody in his family had really started to think he was gay because he never even mentioned being interested in a woman. But then you come along, and you're _all _he's interested in." I shift on the couch, a lump forming in my throat.

"And I saw it too," Kate goes on. "I mean I didn't like him from the start. I told you I thought there was something off, but I still can't believe you fizzled out that quickly. Are you sure there's something you're not telling me?"

"Yes, Kate. We just didn't work out," I repeat, then I go for a different track, trying my best to distract her. "So what about Elliot? Still looks like major sizzle to me."

It works. Kate's eyes light up and turn gooey. I immediately relax as she launches into telling me all about her new beau. And even though I can't deny that I'm jealous of her normal, affectionate relationship, seeing her this happy actually manages to lift my own spirits because I'm happy for her too.

She doesn't look like she's anywhere near being done talking, when the front door reopens, interrupting her. I turn to see both Elliot and Ethan coming in, talking between themselves.

"Hey, pretty ladies," Ethan greets with a wide smile.

"Hey. What are you two doing together?" I ask as they come toward us.

"I was on my way up when I ran into Elliot," Ethan says, plopping down on the couch with Kate and me.

It's only then that I look from Ethan to Elliot, a little startled when I see the difference since he's left. And it's not his change of clothes. Instead, it's the brooding, faraway look on his face, particularly his eyes. His lips are flattened into an unhappy line.

Obviously I'm not the only one who notices. "Hey, baby. What's wrong?" Kate immediately chirps, concern etching her brow.

"Hmm?" Elliot's eyes snap to hers, looking like she's just pulled him from deep thought. His eyebrows shoot up curiously. "Nothing's wrong, babe," he says breezily, his face softening as he bends to kiss her on the cheek. Immediately the concern on her face disappears.

"Where you been?" she asks casually.

He shrugs. "Took everything back to my place, then stopped by to popped in to see my family." For just a brief second, I think I see a strange little twist of the corner of his mouth when he says "family", but it's so quick that I can't be sure. But the thought gets no further before he brightens and looks at the three of us.

"You all ready to go out? Have a little reunion – celebrate being back in the same time zone?"

We all agree, and Kate jumps up to go "freshen up", grabbing me on the way. I can tell by her demeanor as she pulls me into her room that she's missed playing dress up with me as personal Barbie. She especially excited that I have a different hairstyle for her to play with. I don't complain as she drags out her gargantuan cosmetic bag. Because as much as I might complain, I have missed my best friend dearly.

The four us going out together is refreshing and yes, more than a little fun. It's so good to be back in the company of friends. I know I've had Ethan the past few days, but this is different. Now, I can just kick back and enjoy listening to their easy banter, not really even bothering to do much talking myself. It's simply a joy just to watch them, all three happy and care-free.

I have to admit – I feel a stab of jealousy more than once, wishing I could feel the same on the inside. The little outing does help take my mind off of things and considerably lighten my mood, but that doesn't stop by mind from reeling in the background. The little annoying itch is still there, demanding to be scratched. But I actively ignore it for the time being, focusing on my friends in front of me.

However, the cheery atmosphere is interrupted a few times for me when – in random moments of conversation with Kate – I glance over, only to find Elliot's blue eyes watching me with some odd look in them, that same small frown playing on his lips. But as soon as we lock eyes, the expression evaporates, leaving me wondering if I imagined it. And right after, Kate usually sucks me right back into whatever she's saying, giving me no time to question it.

Finally though, our outing ends and we make our way back to the apartment. Kate and Elliot are none too slow in excusing themselves to "get settled", leaving Ethan and I to do whatever. We watch TV together for a while, not saying much, but soon we drift away, me to my room and he to his.

My mind is still whirling with turgid thoughts, and now that I'm alone once more, they all come back to the front of my consciousness. But I still can't put any of them to rest, and I'm not ready to let go of my little respite I've had for the last few hours. So I turn on the Sirius Radio and settle on something soft while I crack open a book, settling in to read.

It takes a little effort, but I soon manage to get absorbed into the story, getting sucked into the mind of the main character and wishing – pretending, if just fleetingly – that I could really be in the story, trade places with her. After all, her story is set – it's already written out for her. The beginning, middle, and ultimately the end. Everything is figured out, the decisions all made, and the ending already known and unchangeable.

Unlike me, who is stuck in the middle of a plethora of choices – well, really it's only two choices, but it feels like a whole hell of a lot more – and none the wiser as to what to do. I don't know where my story is going, because I'm still in the process of writing it.

I shake my head, lifting my eyes from the page for the first time in quite a while. _Great, now I'm jealous of a fictional character – because she's NOT REAL! Ugh. _I huff, surprised by the bulk of pages that have been flipped to the other side – of how much I've read. I've gone through over half the book, and when I glance at the clock, my mouth almost falls open as I realize that it's just past midnight.

I set the book down, noticing how heavy my eyelids actually are just as a huge yawn escapes me.

Deciding to call it a night, I stiffly lumber out of bed and mechanically hunt down a cotton v-neck and my favorite pair of silky black Puma tights. They're technically meant for working out, but I use them for the opposite – being lazy and laying in bed.

While I'm changing, I can't help it when my eyes stray to the black jacket slung over my desk chair. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to stuff it back in the closet. I still haven't gone near it – or smelled it – but seeing it somehow has helped keep me more grounded during my mental tirades.

Looking away, I turn down the covers, but don't get in, deciding that a cup of English Twinings sounds very appealing. I shuffle in my sock feet down the hall, but come to an abrupt halt when I hear a whispered voice coming from the main room.

It takes me a couple seconds to realize that it's Elliot. And he's apparently on the phone.

I'm just about to turn back, to give him some privacy, but I'm frozen in place as one word jumps out at me. Well, not a word. A name.

"Christian," he snaps, still in a hushed tone because of the late hour. Immediately, I jerk to a stop, my heart lurching before picking up pace. Without even deciding to do so, I inch closer to the corner, inclining my ear. I don't stop to feel guilty for eavesdropping. I'm too absorbed in listening as he goes on.

"How much have you had to drink?" Elliot demands. I swallow hard, getting as close as I dare.

"Where are you? Are you at home?" There's a long pause and Elliot sighs so loudly that I can hear it. "Christian stop saying that!...No, you're not!" I stop breathing, and I can feel the blood leave my face as time seems suspended by the mere knowledge that he's this close –well, his voice anyway – is _right there. _

"Yes, she's here," Elliot says, sounding a little reluctant. I gulp, somehow knowing he's talking about me. "I don't know, Christian. She didn't talk about you. I told you earlier – the only thing she said was that you didn't work out." Elliot huffs again.

"Why don't you tell her that, then?...Look, Christian, you'll figure it out, but right now, you need to go bed – sleep it off."

There's another long pause. "Christian, listen to me – NO! Don't you dare hang up yet!" a second later, I hear, "Dammit." But I can tell the curse is to himself. Christian hung up.

And suddenly, Elliot's eyes flash to mine, surprised – which makes me realize that I've moved around the corner without even realizing it. I can feel how huge my eyes are, and the burning curiosity in them.

Elliot blinks, halting in the middle of what looks like him pacing across the room. "Ana," he says, his shoulders dropping as if in resignation. Or maybe relief. I don't know.

"What's going on?" I barely manage to whisper, my eyes flashing to the phone still gripped in his hand.

He sighs heavily again, turning to face me with a grim expression. "You heard." I nod, not bothering to notice that I should feel embarrassed to be outing myself for eavesdropping on a private phone call.

His lips flatten into a line, but I can't tell if it's caused by disapproval of my intrusiveness or if it's from the phone call itself.

I take another step forward, tense with anxiety all of a sudden. "Is everything okay?" My voice comes out just as tight as my muscles feel.

Elliot looks at me for a long moment before answering. "No."

My anxiety is racked up a few notches. "What's wrong?"

"It's Christian," he says grimly, even though I already knew that. "He's not doing too hot at the moment."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Elliot says, and for a moment, I can a flash of real worry in his light eyes. I stumble a few steps toward him as he begins his explanation with a huge exhale. "I went by to see him earlier, before we went out. After you told me that you'd broken up, and he still wouldn't answer his phone – I just wanted to swing by real quick to check in with him…" he trails off.

"And?" I prompt.

"He was…he's…a mess." Elliot shrugs as if he knows no other way to word it. "I've never seen him so…bothered, I guess. He looks awful – well, awful by his standards, I should say. He tried to play it off, but that somehow made it worse, even more noticeable. And when I tried to ask him about you – he just shutdown. I've been worried about him ever since, so I decided to call and check on him." Elliot holds up his phone vaguely. "I was surprised when he actually answered. But my guess is it's because he's so drunk."

"Drunk?"

Elliot nods, his forehead creasing as if he's both concerned and confused. "I've only ever seen him drunk twice," he says with the recollection of a big brother. "And that was when he was like fifteen, sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night from only God knows where. I had to cover for him with Mom and Dad. I haven't seen him so much as tipsy since, and even then, he wasn't like this…"

"Like what?"

"So…distraught." He shrugs again like he doesn't know how to explain it. "Earlier he refused to talk about you, now you're all he'll talk about. He keeps saying something about 'not being more' and 'being too dark'. Well, that's what I understood anyway – he's slurring so bad, I can barely make that much out. He asked how you were – if you seemed to miss him." Elliot's voice drops, becoming sympathetic probably due to the horror I can feel written all over my face.

When I don't respond, he steps closer. "Look, Ana. I don't know what happened between you two, and it's none of my business, but I will tell one thing for sure – he's not handling it too well apparently."

I still don't say anything. I'm not even sure I can as I stand there, my muscles locked into place as I try to comprehend what he's telling me.

Christian, drunk and upset – over me? Somehow, it just doesn't make sense. But apparently it's true. His brother is standing here telling me. I shake my head, trying to get my bearings. Elliot glances at the clock. "I think I'm going to go over and check on him. He's at home, but I still want to make sure he's alright. I don't _think _ he'd do anything stupid, but with the way he sounded…" he trails off in a tone that sends a violent shiver up my spine.

_Stupid? Oh God! Is he saying Christian would do something to hurt himself? NO! _

"I'll go." I takes me a very long moment to realize the two words came out of my mouth. Elliot's eyes flash to me, widening with surprise. I don't even recognize my own voice as I repeat, "I'll go," with more finality.

"You sure?" He looks as me dubiously. I nod mechanically, my mind having gone completely blank. All I can think about is Christian – upset. Needing me. That thought sends me into a sense of urgency. I suddenly start nodding more vigorously. "Yeah," I say, resolved. "I'll go check on him. I should probably talk to him anyway."

"You want me to call you a cab?" Elliot asks.

"No," I answer. "I'll take my car."

It doesn't even strike me until I'm halfway back to my room that I probably confused the hell out of Elliot by saying that – as I didn't even tell Kate about the car thing. But the thought vanishes as soon as it appeared.

Right now, I'm a woman on a mission. I fly back through my door, darting to my closet to grab some shoes, stuffing my feet into the slip-on Sketchers. I have just enough presence of mind to grab my purse before I'm striding with hast back through the door.

Elliot's already gone, so I assume he's gone back to join Kate in bed again. But I pay no mind as I scurry through the door.

I make it half-way through the lobby when I cross paths with a familiar body clad in a black leather jacket. I stop short, both of us catching sight of the other at the same time.

Ethan blinks, taken aback. My eyes flicker downward, seeing him still fully dressed and the Ducati keys in his hand.

"Where have you been?" I ask out of the blue. _Heh. I'm the one racing out of the apartment in the middle of the night, and yet I'm the one asking!_

"I was over at Greg's," he answer automatically, his wide eyes taking me in fully after a moment. His brow creases.

"What's going on? What's wrong?"

I shake my head, already inching away as my focus returns. "I-I have to go," I stammer, not knowing what to say. But I don't have to. Ethan's not slow. Comprehension clicks on his face immediately.

"You going to see Grey?"

I swallow, then nod reluctantly. The comprehension turns to concern. "Are you sure it's a good idea? I mean, it's the middle of the night."

"I don't know," I say in a rush. Because it's the truth. _I really don't know if this is a good idea. But I don't really care at the moment. All I care about is making sure he's safe and okay. _"But Elliot talked to him, and he's kind of worried about him. I just want to make sure he's alright."

Ethan stares at me for a long moment before he nods. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," I huff, backing away.

"Call me if you need anything," Ethan orders. I think I manage to answer him before I turn and dart for the doors, digging for the keys in my purse.

It's started raining, so I make a mad dash for the cherry red car, already hitting the unlock button on the remote and flinging myself inside.

I pause just as I slam the door shut behind me. I sigh. I swore I wouldn't drive this car again…

But after a moment, I just shake my head, shoving the key into the ignition. I console myself with the knowledge that at least now, the car will be back at Escala where it belongs.

_And so will you _my subconscious whispers. I fight off a swell of emotion. _Be back at Escala? Or back where I belong?..._I don't know.

I throw the car into gear, and focus on my destination.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: YES! YES! YES! I have been waiting this entire story to write this chapter! FINALLY!**

**Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Was inspired in part by the song "Nothing" by The Script and "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum.  
**

* * *

I let the A3 glide into the parking space right beside the huge Audi SUVs, and I barely have the engine cut before I snatch my purse up and pop out, slamming the door shut behind me.

I power walk toward the elevators. I've just put in the security code for the penthouse before a nervous tremble strikes my stomach. _Oh, God. I'm really doing this! _The last time I was in this elevator, I was leaving him. Now, here I am again, coming back. Even if it is for a reason I never would have imagined. My all-but-forgotten inner goddess decides now to come out of hibernation, peaking with bright-eyed interest. My subconscious rolls her eyes and mouths _Ho! _at her.

I take a deep breath, and try to concentrate on the issue at hand – my real mission here. And that's to make sure Christian's okay. _That's all, Steele! You're only here to make sure he's safe so Elliot doesn't have to. Don't expect anything more or less. _I really have no idea what possessed me to make the spontaneous decision to come, but I'm here now either way so I have to try to keep a handle on myself. Besides, he's wasted.

_Christian's drunk. _Oh holy cow – how am I going to deal with that? An intoxicated Christian Grey isn't something I've ever imagined, and I really have no idea what I'm in for. _Well, no more time to think now _my sub sighs as the doors ping open.

I waste no time before I propel myself toward the double doors of the great room, reaching for the handles and snatching them out of my way.

And just like that, I'm back.

While I pause in the doorway, I see movement to my left, and my attention snaps from the room itself to who's suddenly in it with me.

Taylor.

He's just come around the corner, meeting me where I'm stepping into the doorway. I'm not really surprised to see him. However, it's clear from his expression that the feeling isn't mutual. Taylor's eyes are wide with surprise as they sweep me over.

But I only see the unusually expressive look for a split second before he blinks, and it's gone. Now, all I see is relief.

"Miss Steele," he says in a heavy sigh, his shoulder dropping and his whole frame relaxing a bit. I take a few steps into the huge room.

"Taylor," I greet quickly.

"I'm glad you're here," he says, betraying the feeling of relief again. It's not a far stretch to figure out why. Suddenly, I feel the urge to give him a little bit of an explanation. After all, Taylor _knows. _About everything.

"Elliot talked to Christian. Said he was pretty messed up." As I speak, my eyes automatically scan the huge room as if I'll see him.

Taylor's face turns grim and he nods. "Yes, ma'am. He's been holed up in his office ever since Friday night. Only comes out when he has to." Taylor's lips harden into a frown. "But he started drinking a few hours ago. He won't let me in there, but he's pretty bad."

_Friday night – after our talk. This really _is _about me. _Sadness settles heavily into my chest.

_I thought I was the only one. _

"No, ma'am. Mr. Grey has…gone through a lot since you were here last." _Oh shit. Did I just say that out loud? _

"Is he still in his office?" I ask, returning to business. Taylor nods.

"Okay." I start moving away.

"Ana," Taylor says, making me pause. I look at him, a little surprised that he actually used my first name. "Good luck." _You're gunna need it _is unspoken but I can hear it in the air.

And because I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that, I merely nod and dart forward again, shooting toward the hallway. Toward Christian.

I go to the home office immediately, remembering my way as if I'd never left.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm about to find on the other side of this door, but with a deep breath, I steel myself and let it open, revealing the other side.

My eyes immediately find him, the most outstanding detail in the room.

His back is to me, so he doesn't yet know I'm even here given that my entrance, though dramatic in my mind, is all but soundless. He's standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, his left hand spread flat against the glass before him and his right resting on his hip. His head is bowed, shoulders dropped as if the weight of the world is upon them.

Beyond him, stretches the blurred view of Seattle. Rain streaks past the glass, but the twinkling of the vast city can still be seen. And although the panorama is vast, it does nothing to diminish the sight of the man in front of it. Call me biased, but even against such an immense backdrop, the sight of Christian Grey is still the more significant of the two.

Even unaware and bowed with unseen burdens, he's still larger than life. My heart twists and squeezes in my chest as I stare at his back, enamored and unable to move for an immeasurable amount of time.

_Well, here it goes. _I deliberately push the door closed behind me to make a noise loud enough for him to hear.

It works. The sound alerts him to someone's presence, but he doesn't move from his spot, assuming he knows who the intruder is.

"I told you, Taylor," he says, his words noticeably garbled from alcohol. "I'm not to be bothered."

He sounds highly annoyed even though he is intoxicated. It's only then that my eyes stray enough away from him to notice the thick glass bottle containing a deep amber colored drink resting on his desk. Beside it is a short glass half-full of the same liquid. Bourbon.

Within a nanosecond, my eyes are already back on Christian as I take a brave step forward.

I think about saying something snarky and witty to get his attention but when I open my mouth, the only thing that will comes out is, "Christian."

Not an earth-shattering first line, but it works as if it had been. Fast as lightning, I'm suddenly not looking as Christian's back anymore as he whirls around. Instead, I'm staring straight at a pair of impossibly huge eyes, glowing gray with shock.

His lips part as his mouth literally falls open. Under different circumstances, I would find his expression and stance amusing. But now, there's nothing remotely funny as I absorb the sight before me in full form.

Even though his hair is always rumpled, it's in complete disarray now, sticking in every direction. His chin and jaw are smattered with stubble, more scruffy than I've ever seen him. His clothes are a little disheveled, his shirt sleeves rolled up haphazardly and the tail coming untucked from his waistband. It takes the length of two heartbeats for me to realize that it looks like the same clothes he was wearing when I saw him the night before last, just without the tie and jacket. The wrinkles and obvious wear in the material just backs the theory up.

But even ruffled and unkempt, he's still heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Christian finally gathers himself. "Ana," he huffs, pushing away from the glass only to sway in place, unsteady on his feet. He blinks and looks like he thinks he's seeing things.

"Christian," I repeat, not knowing what else to say.

"What are y-you doing here?" he slurs so badly that I can't repress the grimace on my face. I take a few steps closer, letting my purse just drop to the floor.

"Elliot was worried about you," I say, avoiding committing to any real answer.

"Lelliot?" Christian's face scrunches as if perplexed. "Why s'he worr-eee-d?"

"He said you sounded upset on the phone." I wave my hand at him. "Not to mention very drunk."

Christian staggers a few steps and suddenly flops down into his desk chair as if standing has become too exhausting for him. "Why did Lelliot send you?"

I sigh, walking toward his desk so that the piece of furniture is the only thing separating us as I stand in front of him. "He didn't. I chose to come."

Christian looks at me with bemusement. "Why? You don't wanna see me." My heart stutters painfully at the sadness in his voice.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay," I say carefully. He tilts his head until it's laying against his shoulder. He regard me with big, serious eyes. "I'm not," he says, and miraculously doesn't slur the two words. "I'm…not okay."

"I can see that," I whisper so quietly that I doubt he heard me. _That makes two of us._ My eyes flicker to the bottle and back to his cloudy eyes. "How much have you had to drink?"

He shrugs. "I dunno."

"Too much, apparently," I say sardonically. I can see he's six sheets to the wind at this point, and won't be even half-way coherent until the morning. So with a huge sigh, I move around the desk toward him.

"Come on," I announce. "Let's get you to bed."

"Bed?" His brow creases like he's never heard the word before. "No, no." He shakes his head, sitting up, back ram-rod straight, a sense of urgency suddenly striking him. "I have to – to – talk to you. I can't go to bed."

"Christian, you're in no shape to talk. You need to sleep it off first."

He shakes his head more vigorously. "Can't. There's no time."

"There's plenty of time for talking when you actually know what you're saying," I press, moving toward his chair. "For now, just let me get you to your room." I don't give him any time to protest before I reach for one of his hands, pulling him up.

It takes a long moment and a hard tug on my part, but he finally helps me by clumsily shoving to his feet, using his desk to brace himself.

"Can you walk on your own?" I ask dubiously, chewing on my lip as I consider going to get Taylor to help me move him. But Christian nods, and takes a couple steps around the desk with me shadowing him. But as he reaches the corner of the other side of his desk, he stops, leaning heavily on the edge.

He pales somewhat, taking a deep breath.

"You okay?" I ask.

"…dizzy," he slurs, looking rather unsteady.

"Here." I grab his other arm and drape it around my neck. With a hard grip around his waist, I lead him forward. He leans a rather large portion of his weight down onto me, making me struggle a tad as I reach for the doorknob.

As the door swings open, Christian's head lulls toward me, his face in my hair. He inhales deeply, so exaggerated that it sounds ridiculous. "You smell so gooood," he drawls, staggering so badly that it jerks me to halt as I try to keep him upright. _And you reek of alcohol. _

"Christian, c'mon. You're gunna knock me over." I urge him forward, tightening my grip on him.

He starts walking again but keeps leaning onto me with his face next to my temple. "I miss you so much, Ana-STAY-shaa," he laments, voice heart-breakingly distressed.

I press my lips together, fighting the urge to say it back. With him so intoxicated, now is not the time to be exchanging heartaches. But my silence makes him go on just as we reach the bedroom.

"I'm so sorry." His voice is small, his words still a little garbled.

"For what?" It comes out strained because he lists to one side, making me struggle momentarily as I practically drag him into the master bedroom.

"Everything," he sighs wearily.

"I told you the other night, Christian – it's okay. It's not your fault," I say a little impatiently, only half-paying attention as I aim for the bed.

"No," he interjects. "I scared you away. Now you're with him and it's too late." _That _gets my attention. I halt our stumbling so I can look up at his bleary but anguished eyes.

"I'm not with anybody," I say firmly. _And it's never too late. _

Confusion briefly passes over his features, but he says nothing, so I tug him. "Come on. Let's get you to bed. We'll talk about this another time."

But he tugs right back, making me jerk and stagger under his arm. "Nuh uh," he protests. "We hafta talk now. Or I won't get to tell you."

I suppress a groan of growing frustration. Even drunk out of his mind, Christian's still getting his way. "Why, Christian?" I half-complain, looking longingly at the bed, ready to have his weight off of my strained side. "What's so important?"

"I want you to come back." Although this isn't a new revelation, it still makes my heart constrict, touched not only by his words but the desperation with which he says it. _And I want to come back. But we have issues! _His arm around my shoulder tightens and the stance becomes less him leaning on me but more of him clutching me to his side. I crane my face upward toward his, the smell of bourbon getting even stronger this close.

"Why?" I whisper sincerely, despite the fact that I know he's too drunk to talk rationally. "Why do you want me back, Christian? You can have anyone – someone who will be what you want."

The desperation on his scruffy but still beautiful face gets even more pronounced. "I don't want anything but you."

"Why?" I press, knowing I should just drop it and save this conversation for a more appropriate time.

But then, everything stops, and time ceases to mean anything. "Cuz I love you," he declares vehemently.

You know that feeling when you fall and land on your back so hard that it knocks the wind out you and leaves you breathless? Well, that's pretty damn close to how I feel as I try to absorb what I just heard. My lungs deflate and refuse to work at stare blankly at Christian's bleary eyes.

I blink, unseeing. What the hell? Did he seriously just say he loves me?_ He's plastered, Steele! He doesn't KNOW what he's saying _my always-present subconscious screams in my mind, demanding I pay attention to her. But despite my shock and her words, I can't help the tiny burst of euphoria that unravels in the deepest recesses of my soul, almost unnoticeable amongst everything else, but still most definitely there.

However, my personal moment is penetrated and interrupted as I watch Christian's face change. He suddenly turns ashen, swallowing hard as his eyes become unfocused. His free hand rises to his face, his fingertips brushing his lips as he suddenly breathes hard.

"Sick," he manages to gasp. Immediately, I'm snapped out of any other thought. _Oh shit! He's gunna be sick! Oh no! _Horrified by the idea of him throwing up on me, I snatch him forward, my strength aided by the sudden adrenaline spike I get due to the urgency of the situation. Christian stumbles along with me as I yank him to the bathroom, barely managing to switch on the light.

I veer him in front of the toilet, flinging open the lid in just the nick of time before Christian doubles over, heaving. I cringe at the sight and the sound, but I don't let go of him. His arm has slid from my shoulder, but I keep one arm hugged around him and the other hand clutching his shoulder as he empties his stomach. The more squeamish side of me wants to be revolted, but the thought that he's done the exact same thing for me stops that feeling. Instead, all I feel is sympathy, boarding on pity as he heaves, his solid frame rolling heavily.

Finally, though, it subsides and he gasps for breath but stays bent over the bowl. I give wait a long moment to make sure he's done, before I gently urge him up until he's standing.

"You okay?" I ask when he's recovered somewhat. His hazy eyes focus back on me, and he swallows hard, but nods yes. After I reach over to flush the toilet, I start pulling him back toward the room, determined to get him in bed and asleep.

Christian groans, but I finally get him to the edge of the mattress, pushing him until he flops down. He scrubs his face with both palms wearily as I make quick work of removing his socks and shoes. Tossing them aside, I reach for the edge of the covers, snatching them back.

"Go on," I say, gesturing to the open place in the sheets. "Lay down."

Christian blankly gazes at the bed under him for a moment before looking at me with big eyes.

"I don't wanna sleep," he slurs emphatically.

"Christian, you have to sleep this off," I compel. He shakes his head vigorously. "But you'll be gone," he objects, panicked. "And we won't talk."

"You can talk to me tomorrow. When you can actually remember what's said," I point out, pulling him until he scoots where he should be.

"You're not leaving?" he asks in such hopeful confusion that my heart aches at the sight. I blink, chewing on my lip. I ran here so fast that I hadn't even thought about that yet, but I guess I had assumed I would just go back home. But now, looking at his frantic eyes, I suddenly can't imagine just leaving him here. Not like this. Not yet.

"No," I finally answer. "I'm not leaving."

"You're not?" Disbelief colors his voice as I tug the duvet up over his legs, trying to settle him in.

"No. Now lie down." He stares at me for another minute before finally doing as I ask, settling into the mattress. I finish pulling the covers up over him, making sure he's on his side just in case he were to throw up again in his sleep. Gross thought, but still something to worry about.

"Go to sleep," I say softly. His arms are on top of the covers, and he moves one, suddenly catching my hand with his, squeezing. Holding onto me.

"Gnight, Ana-STAY-sia," he slurs, finally losing the battle with his drooping eyelids. I stare at him unblinkingly for a long time. Even after he starts snoring softly, clearly out for the count, I just sit there, watching him sleep, amazed and touched by how different he looks unconscious. All the little lines and tight stress in his face disappears, transforming him from the pent up CEO to the wonderfully young and relaxed man that lies before me.

My throat tightens as I wiggle my hand out of his loosened grasp, and use my fingertips to very lightly stroke his unshaven face. "Hmm," he hums in his sleep, twitching but remaining blacked out.

Finally, the last couple minutes manage to catch up to me. _He said he loved me! _The most horrible mixture of agony and joy war from within me. Joy for obvious reasons. But agony because I know I can't believe it. Even as bad as I may want to.

The fact is he's drunk. Very very very drunk. And I've heard from Kate that alcohol is like truth serum to men – they can't lie when they're intoxicated. But that's hardly an infallible truth, likely completely unfounded.

I shove to my feet, swiping at hot, scalding tears as I start pacing, desperately trying to get a hold on my mind. My thoughts are swarming like a hive of angry bees, each one stinging as it bounces to and fro.

There's nothing in the world I wouldn't have done to hear those words from this man in the recent past. But now that I have under these circumstances, I realize it wasn't about hearing them, it's about _knowing _it.

And until this moment, I thought I already _knew _the answer to that question. I supposedly _knew _he didn't love me. Yes, I've admitted that I know he _cares _about me. In his way. But love me? No way. Not the deep, blooming passion and need I feel for him. Among all of my questions and confusion that was the _one thing _I assumed I knew.

But now, that's all been shot to hell.

I cross my arms over my chest, turning and pacing the other way across the room, desperately confused. The past two days of mental warfare have nothing on this. Now, it feels as if my world has been knocked off its axis and is spiraling out into space with nothing to hold me in place.

Now, I realize that every scenario I've been playing over and over in my mind have been all been based on this assumption. Hell, that's been my biggest hang up – the fact that I feel more for him. It's my second reason why I shouldn't go back. Of why I'll just get hurt, and end up alone.

But now…that's just been taken. The main foundation on which I was basing everything on has just been cracked, damaged so that nothing's stable – sending my already fragile and cluttered thoughts flying.

Even though I know I can't take the admission sincerely, it's still enough to plant that tiny seed of doubt of _what if?. _And that's dangerous. Very dangerous. The last thing I need right now is another what if scenario. I already have too many. Besides, this one is the most altering, and it's shaky at best.

Chances are, he doesn't even know what he's saying. And even more likely, he won't remember it when he wakes up. The hurt in my heart gets worse when I consider that thought, disappointment starting to pervade. _It takes being drunk for a man to tell me he loves me! _Talk about a real hit to the self-esteem. Not to mention totally disenchanting. I mean, seriously, the first _I love you's _are suppose to be magical, special. A moment to remember and cherish. Or at least that's how I always imagined.

Not this. Not something slurred in a moment of mindless intoxication. And certainly not when it brings more hurt and confusion than joy, like it should. Not when I can't believe it.

"Ana." My name coming from across the room makes everything freeze, interrupting my internal monologue. I halt my pacing, my head whipping around to Christian. I can only see his back, but he's still lying just as I left him.

"Hmmm," he hums, an uneasy sound in the back of his throat. Moving around the other side of the bad, I lean over until I can see his face, working to blink lingering tears from my eyes. His eyebrows are pulled together, a troubled look on his face though it's obvious he's still out cold. I stand, frozen and watching him as he twitches with a grimace for a moment.

"No," he practically whimpers. "Don't go." Everything in me throbs painfully with the sound of his disoriented words, distorted but laced with pain. A pain that so very obviously echoes my own. And without even thinking about it, I move to the bed, kicking off my shoes and sliding up onto the mattress without jostling him.

_I told him I would stay, so I might as well stay in here. _I settle in behind him just as he releases another sound indicative of his dreaming. Tentatively, I reach out and place my hand on his bicep, rubbing his arm reassuringly.

"Shhh," I whisper. "I'm right here." Immediately, Christian falls silent once again so I scoot over closer to him, softly putting my arm around him.

He grumbles unintelligibly before sighing, his breathing evening out. I'm on top of the covers, but I can still feel his heat radiating out toward me, warming me. I wiggle just a breath closer, relishing the sensation and trying to stop the desire to remove the barrier between us.

No, barriers are good. Barriers, even one this small, are necessary right now. Perhaps more than ever.

Giving myself over to the exhaustion, both physical and mental, creeping up on me, I nestle my face into the back of Christian's head, unable to keep from catching his unmistakable scent. Even mingled with alcohol it's still there.

And just like yesterday – or two days ago, now – it's like a stab to my heart, restarting my tears. I hug him just a smidge tighter, wishing it could just stay like this. Wishing nothing about us had to be questioned or second guessed.

But right now, there's only one thing that I'm sure of anymore. Even though I can't be certain of anything else, I do know this. _I love this man. _

And that's the real reason I'm here.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Just found out that Charlie Hunnam is no longer playing Christian Grey in the movie...consider this update my way of celebrating! HAHA! *fingers crossed that they don't replace him with someone worse...***

* * *

_"I don't want you to go either," he whispers, his voice raw. He reaches up and gently strokes my cheek and wipes away a falling tear with his thumb. "I've come alive since I met you." His thumb traces the contours of my lower lip._

_"Me too," I whisper, "I've fallen in love with you, Christian." His eyes widen again, but this time, with pure, undiluted fear._

_"No," he breathes as if I've knocked the wind out of him. _Oh no._ "You can't love me, Ana. No… that's wrong." He's horrified._

_"Wrong? Why's it wrong?"_

_"Well, look at you. I can't make you happy." His voice is anguished._

_"But you do make me happy." I frown._

_"Not at the moment, not doing what I want to do."_

_ "We'll never get past that, will we?" I whisper, my scalp prickling in fear. He shakes his head bleakly. I close my eyes. I cannot bear to look at him._

_"Well… I'd better go, then."_

_"No, don't go." He sounds panicked._

_"There's no point in me staying." _

I wake with a small jolt and a painful gasp, completely disoriented. For a split second, I have no clue where I am, but the soaking warmth and weight I feel on my right side is more than enough to remind me. My eyes flash from the ceiling to the peaceful, sleeping face of Christian Grey, making it all come flooding back with blinding clarity.

We've both shifted in our sleep – Christian having turned onto his other side so that his head is resting on my shoulder, his breath hitting the skin of my neck and my cheek resting against his hair. The covers are still separating us, but Christian has rolled his body as close as possible to mine, hence the wave of heat I feel.

I blink away the grogginess, the last remnant of my dream reoccurring to me and causing a stab of depression to immediately follow. I sigh, moving my eyes away from Christian to the alarm clock. I have to force myself not to groan when I see it's not even six yet, which explains the lack of sunlight coming through the mostly glass walls.

I lick my lips, realizing how bone dry my mouth is. Stiff and thirsty, I very carefully start wiggling my way to the other side of the bed. Very gently, I slide until Christian's head lulls from my shoulder to the pillow. I hold my breath, watching him. His eyebrows twitch momentarily and he mumbles under his breath, but stays asleep as I finish working my way to the edge of the bed.

I hit the bathroom first, stopping to splash water on my face and trying to straighten my hair somewhat with my hands. When I reenter the bedroom, I find Christian just as I left him. I stand there for a long minute with my hands on my hips, chewing my lip. _Well, what now?_

It's still way too early to be up in my book, and I would like to crawl back in bed and sleep for a couple more hours. But I don't want to wake Christian by doing so, and I'm dying for something to drink. Plus, now that I think about it, it's probably best to be awake once he decides to rejoin the land of the living. I'm not sure waking up to find me sleeping next to him would be the best way to kick off our time around each other. Besides, I'm not sure if he even remembers that I was here at all given how drunk he was, so it would probably confuse the hell out of him as well. Christian mumbles again just before I reluctantly tear my eyes away from his sleeping form, shuffling in my sock feet out of the room. I close the door softly behind me and make my way slowly down the wide hall, still waking up.

I waddle barefoot into the sumptuous kitchen, more brightly lit than the bedroom by the soft streaks from the rising sun. I go straight for the correct cabinet, pulling out a glass before opening the fridge and grabbing the pitcher of juice I already assumed would be there. I pour myself a drink of cranberry juice, frowning to myself. The familiarity which I'm moving around with is a tiny bit unnerving. I'm still in disbelief that I'm here, like it's really all some bizarre dream. So the ease I feel at the same time is a bit weird, the two feelings conflicting with each other.

Juice in hand, I wander closer to the glass wall, but before I get there, I find myself staring straight at the sleek, black baby grand piano resting grandiosely in the corner. I can't help it when I reach out to skim my fingertips over the edge as I saunter around, the memories of the last time I saw it assaulting me – sitting with my head on Christian's shoulder, listening to him play. All right before he told me the contract was "moot" because we had "more".

Then I had to go and shoot it all to hell with my big mouth and playfully running from him. I glance back at the breakfast bar over my shoulder, practically seeing it all play out in from of me in my mind's eye.

_"Anyone would think you didn't want me to catch you."_

_"I don't. That's the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about me touching you." _

And that's where we lost it. Where it all went wrong – and has been going wrong ever since. I turn away from the room which holds so many memories in just the short time I was here. Memories I can't relive right now.

Right now, I have to focus on the future.

So going to stand right in front of the glass, with Seattle awakening before me, that's what I do.

I sigh, taking another sip of juice. First thing's first – we have to talk. Really talk. Properly and like adults. _Easier said than done. _My lips twitch ruefully, knowing the tantrums Christian's capable of – like a two year old. But it has to be done.

In hindsight, I realize that the discussion we had Friday night didn't resolve a thing between us. If anything, it just posed new problems and questions for both of us. So now, it's time to fix that. Either way, things have to straightened out today. Or at least worked on.

After what I saw last night, I know now that he's not doing any better than I am and neither of us can keep going like this. We either need to move past this and go forward, or at the very least give each other closure.

I sigh, thinking about which one of those I really want. Because the former gets my hopes entirely too high and easy to dash and the latter is simply too painful to consider just yet. So trying to keep myself in a neutral state of mind, I move onto the next thought. Something Christian slurred last night.

_"Now you're with him and it's too late." _With him…Ethan. I have to set the record straight about Ethan. Before we even think about discussing anything else, that needs to be taken care of. He needs to know that what I said at his office isn't true. Not the way he took it anyway.

I chew my lip, a pang of guilt striking me in the gut. Guilt for being so childish in the first place. Guilt for misleading him. Guilt for hurting him. I scrub my face wearily with my hand, trying to remind myself that it was ultimately a good thing. It was the only thing dramatic enough to get through that stubborn head of his.

There's no doubt in my mind that he never would have shown up Friday night to talk if I hadn't said it. Or even on the off-chance that he did show up, it wouldn't have been to talk. It would have been the same shit he'd been doing previously. And I would have stayed mad. And we would still be in the same place, at an impasse. Neither of us backing down. Neither of us moving forward.

So yes, it was petty and motivated by spite, but it was effective. He got his wakeup call like I got mine yesterday. But I know it has to be straightened out like it should have been Friday. That's what I feel most guilty about – letting it go on. That's what was unnecessary.

I can't even imagine how I would feel if I believed even for a second Christian hopped into a bed, or I guess a playroom, with another woman. Let alone a whole weekend. Hell, forget a bed or playroom, I'd be beside myself if I knew he'd gotten anywhere in the realm of it.

_Like you? _my subconscious snaps, irritated. I shift, uncomfortable. And for the first time in this whole situation, I try to see things through the gray eyes of the intimidating CEO.

And I don't like it. Because all I see if jealousy, confusion, and endless amounts of hurt.

I have to force myself to think my next thought. _What if the roles were reversed? What if it had been him who walk away, then started getting awfully close to another woman – even if they were only friends? What if he turned to someone else because of the hurt he was feeling over me? _Just like I'd done?

_But he did _my sub whispers. And immediately, I'm reminded of something long forgotten. The first time I saw him after leaving. Standing on the sidewalk with…_her. _That evil leech of a woman. _Mrs. Robinson. _

I recall the black attired figure with perfect blond hair. I saw her from a distance, and I was paying way more attention to Christian but I could still see that she was very attractive. Kind of a letdown when you picture someone with horns and a forked tail.

And that was the day he had sent me the necklace, and it was right after I had sent it back with my snarky message. And even though I have no way of being for sure, I know – I _know_ – he went to see her because of me. My tingling spidey senses – or woman's intuition, whatever it's called – is enough proof.

And with even more striking clarity, I realize that must be why he came to see me hours afterward. Until then, the only contact had been impersonal, distant. _Just like Georgia. _I feel the blood leave my face. In Georgia, he came to see me because of her. Then we're separated and he shows up after talking with her.

I shake my head vigorously, biting my lip so hard that it's a wonder I don't taste blood. How did I not see this before? More importantly, what the hell has she been telling him? Has everything he's done been because of whatever advice she's given him?

Suddenly, all I feel is hate. An all-consuming, burning hate for this woman. Hate that now I have to wonder how many extra problems we've had because he's been around her, listening to her.

_He probably feels the same way about Ethan _my subconscious whispers petuantly at me. All the breath whooshes out of me. _But it's different! _I want to shout. Ethan's not some old guy who took advantage me as a kid. And he's certainly not some sick pedophile friend who I share a fucked up lifestyle with.

_Christian doesn't see it that way _she continues. _It's all true, but he has a different view of it. Just like he has a different view of you and Ethan. _Oh dear Jesus! I feel like my head is going to explode! This is way too much for this early in the morning. But as a result, I am starting to realize that this is perhaps the largest part of our problem.

We keep going to other people instead of going to each other. If we'd done that in the beginning, this all would have likely cleared up long ago. I lean my forehead against the glass, the sun coming in much brighter now which makes me wonder how long I've been standing here.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Steele?" I mutter to myself. It seems like everything I've done recently has just led to trouble. Everything from agreeing to do that freaking interview all the way to walking out of this very apartment. It's like I can't do anything right these days.

And that's what I'm trying to remedy. I'm tired of the miscommunication and everything that goes along with it. I'm sick of the questions and the constant turmoil. And now's the time to get rid of as many of them as possible.

_But am I ready to find out some of those answers? _I think with trepidation. The thought I've been actively avoiding creeps, unbidden, into my mind. The drunken confession of what I has previously considered unrequited love Christian made last night.

_What if he really doe_ – I stop the thought before it completes. Nope, we're not going there. I can't allow myself that sort of possibility yet. Or maybe not at all. I won't know until I talk to him. Neutral thoughts, remember?

But what if it comes up? What if he says it again, this time sober and sincere? I shake my head, trying to dismiss that. But it leads me to the reverse situation – what if he doesn't remember it at all?

Again, disappointment prevails like last night as I consider that, hating that it's the more likely of the two situations. So what do I do then? Just forget it? Do I ask him about it?

_HELL NO! _Sub shouts at me. _Don't you dare put him on the spot like that! _

And for the first time in ever, I see the wisdom of her words right away. That is a statement that should be said freely and willingly. Not something that has to be dragged out by force.

No, I decide. I want him to choose to say it. To want to tell me. I don't want to have finagle it out of him.

So, no – I won't forget it. But I resolve right here that I won't mention it. Not a word. I sigh, and for a change, it's one of relief instead of exasperation. Amazingly, I'm starting to feel much better now that I've starting working through some of this shit and coming to actual conclusions.

All that's left is to talk about all of this with Christian. My stomach gives a nervous tremble at the thought. There's only one thing for sure – today is either going to be very good or very bad.

We're on a precipice, and staying here isn't an option. We're going to fall on one side or the other. Resigned to my unknown fate, I abandon the view of the city and turn to the kitchen, wondering which way it'll be.

And immediately, I find that I'm apparently going to be finding out sooner than I thought. Because when I turn back around, I automatically freeze, locking gazes with a certain gray eyed sleeping beauty.


	34. Chapter 34

I start a little, the result of suddenly finding out I'm not alone. Christian is standing on the far left side of the bar, gaping at me. He's completely frozen just as I am, eyes huge and lips parted. He's the epitome of shock. He doesn't even blink as I stand there, staring right back.

To say he looks like he just rolled out of bed would be an understatement. He looks like he did last night – same worn clothes, tangle of hair, and unshaven face. Except now, he looks…wilder almost. And of course he's actually of sound mind and lucid.

It takes an unbearable amount of time before the nerve cells in my brain start firing off again, gifting me with the ability to form full thoughts. I shift onto one foot self-consciously.

I swallow hard, willing my anxiety down. _Well, here goes nothing. _"Good morning," I narrowly manage to squeak, my voice way too high. _Good morning? Seriously? C'mon Steele! You can do better than that!_

I clear my throat and try again. "How do you feel?" My head tingles just thinking how bad his must feel after last night. And it's still early, so he hasn't had all that much time to recover.

Christian blinks, but doesn't move one rigid muscle. _One…Two…Three…_I count, growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, "Ana?" he asks, sounding as if he's not quite sure who I am.

"Uh-," I stammer, floundering a little. Amidst all of the pondering this morning, I really should have come up with a game plan on what how to handle this. Of course, I'd assumed he'd be asleep for much longer. "Hi." My cheeks redden with embarrassment. God, why is this so awkward?

"Ana," he says again, except this time it sounds like a sigh of grateful relief. I keep my eyes trained on his, taking a couple cautious steps forward, back toward the kitchen. I sigh, not knowing where to begin but deciding to at least try to start somewhere instead of just gawking at each other.

"Look, I know this is so out of the blue, and you probably-"

"I thought I'd dreamed you," he blurts out, interrupting me hastily, he staggers a step forward. I blink, surprised. "From last night," he goes on. "I woke up, and I swore it was all a dream. But…" He shakes his head, a look of awe on his face.

"Nope," I say lightly. "I'm the real deal." I drift closer, returning to the kitchen. The whole time, our eyes never leave each other. Neither of us say anything for what feels like a long time. Finally, I set my glass down on the counter, and the sound is like a whistle breaking a huddle – except it seems to break some invisible wall.

Christian appears to gather himself, moving around the bar until we're a yard apart in the kitchen. He runs his hand through his unkempt hair, but does nothing to tame the copper jungle.

"What are you doing here?" he asks softly. _Wow. He really doesn't remember last night. _

I lean against the counter. "Elliot talked to you late last night – got pretty worried." I shrug, trying to make light of it.

"Elliot sent you here?" he demands with a spark of emotion.

"No no no," I backtrack. "I overheard the conversation. I should have said _I _was the one who got worried."

"Why?" His eyebrows crease.

I cross my arms a little awkwardly. "He said you didn't sound too great. Ya know, the way you were talking."

He sighs heavily, looking suddenly contrite. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "I don't know what I was thinking. I never drink like that. But you didn't have to come. I'm fine." He doesn't say the words defensively or condescendingly like I'm accustomed to. Instead it's obvious it's bravado, a very feeble attempt at bravery.

I look him straight in the eye. "Don't do that."

He looks taken aback. "Do what?"

"Lie."

His face falls and his lips flatten into an unhappy line. "Am I that obvious?" he mutters.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" He looks down at himself, his frown deepening.

"No, I haven't actually."

I sigh, and move suddenly, using the same familiarity from earlier to hunt down the Advil bottle. Christian watches me wordlessly as I fix a glass of water. When I'm done, I hand him the glass and pills.

"Here. I can't imagine how bad your head's hurting," I say.

He hesitantly takes them. "It's not that bad."

"I can't believe you're up this early," I try for small talk as I finish off my own glass of cranberry juice.

"The alarm was still set for the usual time. It woke me," he explain, swallowing the Advil.

"Oh." _Jeez. He's always up this early? _

Christian sets the glass back on the counter, scratching at the stubble on his chin before glancing back at me, looking suddenly a little wary.

"I'm surprised you're still here," he says, the question clear in his voice.

"I told you I wouldn't leave," I say simply. When he gives me a blank look, I go on. "You really don't remember anything from last night, do you?"

His eyes take on a distant look as he delves into his memory, his brow furrowing. "Not really. That's why I thought it was a dream. Everything's just vague and hazy. Nothing specific."

"So you don't remember anything you said?" I ask as blasé as possible, hoping he doesn't sense the edge in my voice.

He balks momentarily, then shakes his head. _Just as I thought. _Disappointment crashes down on me hard, making me realize that I had begun to hope for a different answer. This is what I had suspected, but it's still disheartening to hear. To have a memory that he doesn't.

Christian misreads my silence and whatever expression he sees on my face as something different. "It's probably a good thing," he says ironically, half-heartedly joking. "Alcohol tends to make me ramble. I'd hate to know what you had to listen to. I'm sorry. Just forget anything you heard."

I nod, but on the inside, it feels like I've been slapped. He just unknowingly told me to forget that he told me he loved me. That it was just him rambling…It takes everything I have not to start crying.

I stare at him for a long moment, getting a hold on myself before he knows that something's up.

In my silence, Mr. Mercurial's demeanor changes subtly, becomes harder as something occurs to him.

"Does he know you're here?" he asks out of the blue, voice low but hard. I can't help but make a face, surprised by the sudden change in direction. Obviously, it's not hard to guess who he's referring to, and I don't bother playing dumb.

"Yes."

His jaw tightens. "What's he think about that?"

"It doesn't matter." _This is it. Time to make things right. _

"Dammit, Ana," Christian spits, pulling at his hair. "You slept with the fucker and you expect me to-"

"No, I didn't," I interrupt quickly. I frown a little, this not exactly going how I had planned, but I guess it doesn't really matter as long as it gets said.

Christian blinks, but his expression doesn't change. "What?"

"I didn't sleep with Ethan," I confess quietly and completely repentant. "Not the way you think." I trace the rim of my empty glass on the counter with the tip of my finger before daring to look back up at him. His head is tilted slightly to the side, looking like he's trying to do a long math problem mentally.

"What do you mean?" he finally asks through pale lips. I sigh, looking away again. My eyes focus unseeingly on the piano, unable to make eye contact as I admit my deception.

"I never had sex with Ethan," I say quietly. In my periphery, I see him move a step closer.

"You lied?"

"No," I'm quick to defend myself. I peek back up at him to see the bemusement on his face. "You asked if I had slept with him. And I did. Literally." My fingers brush automatically over my still-tender arm where the bruise is yellowing quite nicely. "After what happened with Jack, I didn't want to be alone. So he stayed with me. And Friday night we both got drunk and fell asleep. We've slept _beside _each other."

Christian tilts his head more. "So you really didn't…" he trails off, blinking rapidly. I shake my head no. Christian's face suddenly breaks into a distorted version of a smile as he releases a sound that's like a half-laugh, half-cry. And before I can register the movement, he's suddenly grabbing me, none too gentle.

He snatches me by the shoulders, bringing me forward with a force that I couldn't resist even if I wanted to, and his arms go around me. I freeze with surprise for a moment, but as soon as he squeezes me to his chest, I melt like a chocolate bar on a hot summer day. My arms wind around his waist, hugging him back and relishing the closeness. His face presses into my hair as mine nestles into his neck.

"God, Ana," Christian gasps against my head.

"I'm sorry," I mewl. "I should have never misled you. I was just so mad, and you weren't listening-"

"I know, baby. I'm sorry too." We stay like that for a quite some time, silent and unmoving, just holding on. And though not a word is spoken, I think more communication is passed between us in that one long minute than the past two weeks put together. So much, that by the time he pulls back, it feels like something has been reconnected. Not repaired, but at least put together again.

We pull back, but don't let go completely. I keep a grip on his hips, and his hands move to cradle my face. It's only then that I realize that they're shaking. He bends and touches his forehead to mine, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me but he doesn't move, just keeps gazing at me with wide a look that makes my heart hurt. Because it's a look I've seen before – in the mirror.

He exhales sharply. "I've missed you so much, Ana."

"I've missed you too," I murmur, and he closes his eyes as if savoring the words.

Now that we're this close and in the brightness of the morning sun, I finally get a better look at his face, seeing the weariness more than I did last night. Beyond the scruff on his chin and jaw, I'm starting to notice the…haggardness. Despite having just woken up, there's shadows starting to appear under his eyes. His cheeks look sallower. He looks haunted.

"When's the last time you slept?" I hear myself whisper, before I can think about it. He blinks surprised by the left field question.

"I just woke up."

I shake my head. "Before that – when's the last time you slept before last night?" I watch as his expression changes, becoming guarded. He lifts his head from mine, but still doesn't release me. Nor I him. "I've just been napping mostly."

I frown at him. "Not nearly enough apparently." With a small sense of irony, I realize this is much like when he asked about my eating.

He shifts as if suddenly uncomfortable. "I can't sleep. Nightmares." He scowls at the floor.

"You've been having nightmares?" He finally lifts his eyes to mine again. "I've had them my whole life," he mutters reluctantly. I can tell there's more, so I stay silent until he finally goes on. "They stopped when I was with you, but now they're back. Except they're worse." He shrugs. "Every time I go to sleep, they just wake me right back up, so I don't really see the point." My heart squeezes painfully, and I think about his mumbling last night.

I glance at the clock. It's still really early – way too early for him to be awake after a bender like last night. He still needs rest, and to be honest, I could go for a couple more hours of sleep before I face what I know is going to be a long and taxing day.

But Christian misreads my time checking completely. "You're not leaving, are you?" he asks. My eyes flash back to his panicked ones. I shake my head. "No."

Immediately, he relaxes. "Good, because there is still so much I have to say. And I know you might not-"

"No, I know. We have a lot to talk about." And before he can say anything, I go on. "But it can wait a little while. First, I want you to get some more sleep."

His eyebrows furrow. "Sleep?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes, Christian. You look like you're going to collapse."

He shakes his head. "Ana, I just told you I can't sleep."

"Yeah, without me." He blinks, understanding what I'm getting at. _Bingo. _Suddenly, I know exactly what'll make him go back to bed. I take step away from him, and nod my head in the direction of the hall. "I wanna lay back down for a while. Just come with me. There's no rush and we'll both feel better in a couple hours."

I can practically see the protest on his face vanish, his body already craving what I'm offering. Deciding to strike while the iron's hot, I don't wait for him to say anything. Instead, I just grab his hand in mine, and start back in that direction. Thankfully Christian follows behind me.

When we make it back to the room, I leave Christian by the bed while I pull the huge curtains closed, cutting out the too-bright light. I move to the other side of the bed, but even as I plop down on the mattress, Christian just stares at me blankly, at a loss. I pat the place beside me silently as I settle in, and finally, he joins me as well, getting in beside me.

I'm just about to slide down into the covers, when I catch him staring at me. I pause. "What?" I ask rather self-consciously.

He shakes his head infinitesimally, running his hand through his hair before leaning back. "I'm still not sure that this isn't a dream," he mutters.

I actually manage a small smirk. "If you're dreams are usually like this, then you must have one hell of an imagination," I quip. His face softens, but he doesn't smile and the humor vanishes as soon as it appeared.

And suddenly, I can't help it – I scoot just a little closer, and before I can stop myself, I lift my hand to his ragged face, very tentatively cradling one side of his jaw with it. I gently use my thumb to brush under one weary eye. "See? Very much real."

The stubble pokes sharply at my palm as he leans into my hand, letting his eyes slide closed. I feel my lips curve down into a frown. "You look like hell, Christian," I blurt out in a whisper. He sighs heavily, reaching up to grab my hand from his face and holding it between both of his.

"It's been an incredibly shitty weekend," he breathes.

"For both of us," I add quietly.

"Really?" he whispers, sounding surprised. I nod, and after a beat, he uses his hold on my hand to pull me closer as he slides down into the bed. He hesitantly puts his arms around me as I shyly rest my head on his shoulder, both of us moving with uncertainty.

"We've made a real mess of things, haven't we?" he murmurs.

"It's more like ground zero," I say dryly, and he sighs, his arm tightening.

"But ground zero was repairable," he says, the question clear in his voice. _So are we _I want to say, but I don't. Not yet.

"We'll talk about reconstruction later, okay?"

We both fall silent, but just as I think he's gone to sleep, I hear, "Ana?"

"Yeah?"

He nestles his face into my hair. "Thank you for staying." I can hear the raw emotion just beneath the surface in his voice.

I snuggle closer into his side, closing my eyes. "We aim to please, Mr. Grey."


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: First ever TRIPLE UPDATE! Im doing this so that hopefully this will hold you guys over for a little while. Life is getting crazy and idk the next time i'll be able to update. I'll do my best to not keep you waiting, but life has a way of thwarting my intensions, so no promises! ENJOY! **

* * *

When I wake, I feel completely refreshed and well-rested, barely even groggy. But the clarity of mind means I realize immediately that I'm alone, the place where Christian was now just empty sheets. I reach out with my hand to find them still a little warm, so he couldn't have been up for long. Which is good – he needed the rest.

I wiggle my way into a sitting position, glancing over at the bedside alarm to find that we've slept for just over two more hours.

Rubbing my eyes, I suddenly notice the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. I'm certain it's the shower, so that must be where Christian is. The thought reminds me that I could probably use one myself, which makes me long for the time not too long ago when I would have simply gotten up and joined him. _And maybe again soon…_Nope! I shake my head, still unwilling to let my thoughts go unchecked like that.

There's still way too much that's uncertain, way too much that has to be worked out and talked about. I can't have expectations like that. Even if that's what I'm now aiming toward, I still can't let my hopes get too high.

From what little we've talked, and from what I've seen since getting here last night, I've come to realize that Ethan was right – Christian really does care about me more than I thought. I still don't know if it's as much as I care for him given the rescinded statement he made, but at the very least, it's enough to banish my fear that this could and would never work between us – like I've been trying to convince myself recently. Now, I see that maybe there is hope for us. That we really do have a chance to work this out. To rebuild like Christian said earlier. This time, bigger and better. More.

_Okay, slow down, Steele _Sub warns me. _There's still the issue of that room upstairs. _I frown, my parade officially rained on all of a sudden as I get the less-than-pleasant reminder. In all the craziness of the last ten or so hours, I haven't really thought much about that. Which is sort of ironic considering that beforehand, it was just about _all _I could think about.

_His needs…_I sigh heavily. _Not to mention his unwillingness to open to me. And this big secret he said would make me run for it. As if I haven't already done that…_ Well, I guess that's why I'm here – to figure shit like this out. _Oh boy, this is gunna be an oh-so-fun day. _

I still haven't figured out what I'm going to say exactly. I mean, I know what I want to tell him, but it's _how _that I haven't got nailed down yet. How do I tell a man who eats, lives, and breathes rules and order that I want no part of that? That I want the unpredictable, passionate side of our relationship – the one that lacks control and boundaries because it's uncontainable and free?

How do I say that I want him more than anything – just without his freaky idea of a relationship? How do I tell him that I'm now scared shitless of the threat his contract would pose to me – namely my ass, and most importantly my heart?

How do articulate something so inexpressible – so far beyond words?

And even more – how do I relate these feelings to someone who has lived specifically to keep away from emotions, period? To someone who thinks feelings are something that can be defined and limited by black ink on a contract, and kept behind all the fine lines he draws?

I've always thought of myself as a challenger-taker, but now as I sit here, I'm starting to feel that maybe this is one challenge a little too big to take on. After all, who do I think I am? I'm Anastasia Steele – just a normal, little book worm of a girl. No one special, just a plain Jane next door. So who am I to assume I can be the woman for a man like Christian Grey?

How am I to be what he wants, much less needs? We're already having monumental problems, and we barely know each other yet! There's still so much to say and do and work through.

Yes, I know I've changed quite a bit since I've met him. I'm still me fundamentally, but I'm different at the same time. And that's fucking scary on many levels. If being with Christian can change me this drastically in such a short time, what's going to happen if I keep down this path? How long will it take before there's nothing of the old me left – before I'm so far gone, that my whole identity is wrapped up in Christian? That I lose myself completely?

Of course, there's a piece of me – the piece that's most in love with Christian – that is defined by him. It's the piece that has made me miserable without him. The piece that brought me back here. The one that he owns completely. And I'm fine with that. But I have to be able to keep the rest of me or I'll just end up turning into one of two things – which is either Christian's personal lap dog, or a shrew who's bitter at the world because she spends all her time fighting rules and rebelling against dear old Fifty Shades. So there has to be some sort of compromise.

And as much as I know I love Christian, I don't want to be completely defined by him. I have to be able to be me – my "smart mouthed" and relaxed self too.

_He probably feels the same way, ya know _Sub reminds me sharply. The thought brings me back to the realization I had after my haircut Saturday – that I had put too much pressure on him, to change too quickly.

And just like my smart mouth and defiance is apart of me – and something I want to keep – so is control and dominance apart of Christian. Something he doesn't want to let go of either anymore than I want to let go of who I am.

But how are we supposed to reconcile those two things? Because if we can't find some middle ground, some halfway point, then we are most certainly doomed to fail. I wince thinking about it, then shake it off, reminding myself that everything is yet to be seen.

And sitting here speculating isn't helping matters. In fact, it's just torturing me. So I shake my head, putting everything aside for now, and crawl off the bed.

As I stretch, I'm reminded that there are three people who are probably wondering how I am – one of those probably wondering if still breathing at all, and she's probably none too happy that I just skipped out like I did.

Christian is still in the shower, and instead of waiting on him, I decide to use the time to check in. _Okay, phone…where's my phone? In my purse. Purse purse purse…_I tap my chin. _Oh! Study! That's right!_

I start that way, leaving the bedroom and heading down the hall. Inside, the room is exactly as I left it last night, so my purse is still just lying in the middle of the floor. I snatch it up, fishing out my cell.

As I walk back through the door, I cringe when I have five unanswered texts. Hesitantly, I open one by one to find four are from Kate.

***YOU WENT BACK 2 GREY? WTF?***

***Sorry 4 shouting. Elliot explained. Hope u know wut ur doing***

***Ana? Seriously! I've been waiting for an hour…R u alive?***

***Okay, if ur alive, I'm totally kicking ur ass for doing this 2 me!***

I sigh, fully expecting this sort of response. I open the last one, finding it's from Ethan instead.

***Unlike Kate, I'm gunna assume that no response means evrythg is going so well that ur not looking at ur phone. Call me if u need anythng.***

I pause at the end of the hallway. _Well, might as well go ahead and get this over with. _I hit Kate's speed dial and raise the phone to my ear, already cringing. On the third ring, she answers.

"I'm home for one day, and you're already disappearing in the middle of the night? What the hell, Ana?"

"I'm sorry." The apology is only half-sincere. "You were asleep, and I was in a hurry."

"Ugh. Do you know how…how…insulting it is to wake up and find that not only is your best friend gone but that you're the last to know about it?"

"I know. I know. I know. I'm sorry." This time, I actually mean it. Kate was already worried about me after everything I told her yesterday, so I feel guilty for piling this on her now too.

I hear her sigh loudly on the other end. "Well, it can't be helped now. Just please tell me you're okay. Elliot said Christian was trashed last night."

"Yeah he was. But I'm fine." _So far anyway…_ "No need to worry."

"Are you sure? He's already hurt you enough, Ana. Why on earth would you go back there?"

"Because I'm starting to see that I've hurt him too," I say quietly. Kate doesn't say anything to that for a long moment. And just when I'm about to check if I've lost the call, she sighs again. "Look, I'm not gunna try to tell what you to do. I just want you to be careful, okay? You've already gotten into so much since meeting him. I'm really starting to worry about you."

"I love him, Kate," I whisper, my voice thick with sudden emotion. I hear the sharp intake of breath through the receiver. "And I can't walk away from him this time without knowing for sure there's no chance it can work. I need that much at least."

"God, Ana. I'd say that I don't get it – that I don't understand – but I'd be lying at this point." Another long pause. Then, "What's with these damn Grey brothers, huh?" I let out a single laugh riddled with emotion.

"They're nothing alike," I tell her. "And to be quite honest, I'm not even sure I get what it is. I'm okay though. Don't worry about me."

"Do you know when you're coming home?"

"No," I sigh. "Do me a favor and tell Ethan I'm alive and kicking."

"Alright. Call me later. Or at least text me so I know you're okay."

"I will."

"And tell Grey to watch himself. Or I'll have his balls."

"I won't." Kate laughs.

"Laters, Steele."

"Bye, Kate." I hang up with a small smile playing on my lips. She's a bossy, pushy pain sometimes, but there's no doubt that Katherine Kavanaugh is my best friend. And I have missed her dearly!

I toss the phone back into the abyss of my bag, and start rummaging around for my pill bottle as I start walking again. I enter the kitchen as soon as my fingers finally close around it. But I stop short as I pull it out, catching sight of Mrs. Jones in standing before me, setting various things onto the counter.

She looks up from her work, meeting my wide eyes with a docile smile. "Miss Steele," she greets politely. There's no trace of surprise on her face or in her azure eyes at seeing me. So I'm assuming she already knew I was here. Either that, or she's just used to things like this – Lord knows what this woman has probably seen in the few years she's been working for Christian.

"Um. Hi," I stammer, taken off guard momentarily.

"Would you like some breakfast?" she asks, professional as ever.

"Uh. Sure." I finally gather my wits. "Whatever you already planned on making is fine." She nods and turns her attention back to the counter in front of her. I set my purse on the bar and get a water bottle, swallowing my birth control pill. I started to quit taking it once I left Christian, seeing no reason to keep up with it. But after the help of good old Google, I read where that is most certainly not a good idea. Besides, it's supposed to help with cramps around that time of the month so I figured I would at least finish the bottle. And now, with my relationship status suddenly back up in the air, I'm very grateful I did…

I put the bottle back in my bag, leaving me just standing here with Mrs. Jones. I'm trying to find something to say when she does it for me.

"Do you know if Mr. Grey plans on having breakfast as well?" she asks. _Huh? She's asking if Christian is going to eat? Since when?_

"Uh. No I don't," I answer, a little perplexed. "Doesn't he always?" Christian major issues with food. That much I do know. Gail's lips turn down at the corner as she makes eye contact briefly.

"He's been rather picky lately." she says vaguely. "Not much of an appetite." _Christian hasn't been eating? _

"I know the feeling," I mutter to myself. Mrs. Jones suddenly pauses from what she's doing and looks hesitantly back at me.

"Miss Steele," she starts reluctantly and I immediately perk with interest. "If I may be so bold…I really don't want to speak out of turn but…"

"No go ahead. I don't mind."

She sighs delicately. "I think you should know that Mr. Grey has been…beside himself since you left. He's very stubborn, as I'm sure you know. So he wouldn't show it for a while. But now, he's just…lost."

She looks back down at the food, starting work again. But adds, "I know he's a hard man, Miss Steele. But he really does care. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"I know," I acknowledge quietly and after a moment add, "Thank you." Her only response is a nod, and we fall silent again, the moment of female comradeship passing.

I feel rather useless just standing here, so I move away to sit on the other side of the bar. But just as I slide into it, Christian suddenly appears from around the corner. His eyes hold a trace of worry as they dart around, and when they lock with mine, he visibly relaxes.

I sit up straighter, observing the drastic change since I last saw him. His face is much smoother, the stubble gone; his hair is still wet and fluffed but much tamer now; and he's changed into a pair of black slacks and a baby blue knit sweater with the sleeves pulled to his elbows. And most noticeably, he looks much more rested. I can't help the small smile of satisfaction that curves my lips as he saunters into the kitchen.

"You look better," I observe quietly.

"I feel better," he admits, slowly coming to take a seat to my left.

"How's the head?" I cock an eyebrow at him, and his lips twitch ruefully.

"Surprisingly not that bad."

I let out a big sigh, leaning against the bar with my forehead against my palm. "Lucky you. I didn't even drink, and mine's still spinning," I confess, referring to the insanity of the last couple days. Christian pauses, then says, "Gail, will you give us a minute?"

I look up, surprised, just as Mrs. Jones nods impassively and merely stops what she's doing, turning and walking dutifully out of the kitchen. Leaving us alone. _Oh dear. And so it begins._

"I'm really sorry about last night," he hedges, turning until he's facing me.

I shrug. "It's fine. Nothing you haven't done for me." We pause, both regarding each other a little awkwardly. Both of obviously wanting to say something, but neither of us knowing where to start. Finally, I add, "And I'm sorry for lying to you about Ethan."

Christian's eyes close and his shoulders drop with a sigh as he turns back to the bar, putting his forearms on the counter. "It's okay," he finally says quietly. "I understand why you did." He glances up at me with serious gray eyes. "But I can't say that I'm not overjoyed to hear you didn't actually do it."

I hesitate for a moment, before finally gathering enough nerve to lightly rest my hand over his right wrist, leaning toward him. "But even after I told you that, you still said you wanted me – And I can't tell you how much that says to me," I tell him softly, and very very sincerely. I know how possessive Christian is. Especially of me. And to know that even thinking I'd already been with someone else didn't change the fact that he still pursued me…It's just now occurring to me what exactly that means for him. And in turn – what it means to me.

The silver in his eyes seems to shimmer with emotion. "I'll take you any way I can get you. I've told you that, and I mean it." He moves his arm under my hand, catch it with his own and squeezing as if to get a point across. "Please, Ana. I'm going insane without you. I'll do anything to get you back."

My heart stutters in my chest. "We have a lot of problems, Christian," I sigh wearily, exhausted just thinking about them.

"I know. I know. But we can't fix them if you don't at least agree to try. I want to start over, Ana. Do it right, this time."

"But what makes this time any different?" I ask in despair. "I already _tried._"

"No." he shakes his head. "This first time you agreed to try, it was to be my submissive."

"Exactly. And I can't do it."

"Let me finish. But this time, I want you to try as my _girlfriend._" I feel my eyes widen, and he leans forward, getting more animated as he goes on. "I thought we could do both, Ana," he say, voice burning with regret. "I was trying to have the best of both worlds, and until Friday night, I didn't see how impossible that is. You were right – I was still after submission. And it took thinking you had chosen someone else over me for me to realize that."

"So what does all this mean?" I whisper desperately.

"It means anything you want, Anastasia. Anything – and I'll do it. I don't care so long as I get you. Just tell me what you want and it's yours." _Your heart. _

"I just want you," I whisper.

"But you have to tell me what that means," he says firmly. "You've had me since the day we met, but I don't know _how _you want me." _Oh, this is it. _He's asking what sort of relationship I'm after – what I want him to be to me. And it's not my Dom.

"I just want a norma-" I start to say, but stop short when Taylor suddenly appears from around the corner, his face hard and stony. Christian notices and follows my gaze, turning around.

"Taylor," he snaps, almost angry.

"Sir," Taylor begins, and I can immediately that something's wrong. Christian does to because he sits up straighter, at attention, as Taylor goes on. "We have a problem."

"What?" Christian demands. Taylor's eyes flash to me, then back to Christian.

"Miss Steele's car's been vandalized," he says, voice icy. Christian's head whips around to me, his eyes wide. Mine are the same, but his are full of horrified comprehension and mine are burning with curiosity.

"What?" I ask, dismayed. Not because I'm upset over the car – I never considered it to be mine – but because of who would do such a thing.

Christian's jaw clenches, and his eyes turn flinty as he turns his attention back to Taylor. "Do you know who's responsible?" I'm even more confused by the way he asks the question – as if he already knows the answer. Taylor nods, and Christian curses under this breath before suddenly sliding out of the chair.

"I'll be back," he tells me, voice hard.

"What? Wait. What the hell is going on?" I demand, my heart suddenly thumping much harder.

"Just wait here, Anastasia," he commands. "I have to speak with Taylor for a minute. I'll be right back."

And just like that, he spins around and stride out of the room. Leaving me there, speechless and hopelessly confused. I finally have the presence of mind to close my mouth.

_What the hell? The A3 was vandalized? What does that mean? _No one knows that I've been driving that car, so they've obviously assumed it's Christian's. So someone vandalized Christian's car? _Why? _Who would do that? I slide down from my seat, pacing around the bar.

Surprisingly, it only takes Christian about two minutes before he's already coming back around the corner, looking…_angry. _I stare at him, shocked, as he stops, placing both hands on the ledge of the counter, bracing himself. He doesn't offer any information, and I don't ask right away. But finally, I feel like I'm going to explode.

"What was all that about?" I demand.

"It's nothing for you to worry about," he says, placating me.

"If you think I'm going to settle for that answer, then you really don't know me at all," I say, crossing my arms. He sighs, straightening and turning to face me, defensive.

"It's nothing," he repeats slowly. "Everything is under control."

"Don't do that," I repeat my line from earlier.

"Do what?"

"Lie." His face hardens, and his jaw clenches. _Ugh. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere. _

"Now," I say. "What happened to the Audi?"

He's silent for a long moment, then, "The tires have been slashed and paint thrown all over it."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Why? Who would want to do that your car?"

He shakes his head, the angry expression back. "Not my car. Yours."

"No it's not," I say flippantly. "But besides, it's in _your _parking garage, so anyone would assume it's _yours_."

"No, Anastasia. Trust me – she knows it's yours," he disagrees.

My back goes ram-rod straight. "She?"

He nods once grimly. "Who is 'she'?" I swallow, a nervous quiver in my stomach.

He blinks, not saying anything for a long moment. "Leila," he finally says, his voice toneless, reflecting no particular emotion.

I stare at him bewilderment. _Leila? Who the hell is Leila? That name sounds familiar, but I can't put my- _comprehension suddenly dawns on me after a moment. And the puzzle pieces click together as a memory of listening to Britney Spears comes back to me.

"Leila – the sub who put 'Toxic' on your iPod?" My voice isn't much above a whisper. Again, he just nods once.

The blood leaves my face, as the gravity of what this means hits me. _An ex-submissive of Christian's is back._

And here I thought this day couldn't get anymore interesting.

* * *

**A/N: Just a quick thought – I know the birth control thing was random and should have already been mentioned. But I didn't think about that little detail until now. I just don't want to have to waste time writing a whole thing about Dr. Greene coming and how much Christian hates condoms. It's unnecessary and boring.**

**So we'll just pretend that wasn't totally thrown in there last minute! Haha! **

**Ps-I know i know i know...i keep delaying their "talk" and putting in interruptions...it'll be in the next update I PROMISE! **


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: So i got really sick over the weekend and have had a lot more time to write while i chilled in bed...So here u guys go!**

* * *

"But like I said," Christian suddenly says. "It's nothing for you to worry about it."

"Why?" I whisper, still horrified. "Why would she do that though?"

"I don't know." His voice radiates stress. "She's not…well. I've been trying to find her, but she won't let me. She just shows up then disappears again." My mind is reeling, trying to make sense of all of this. _She was one of the ones who wanted more._

"What do you mean, 'she's not well'?"

He sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think she's experienced some sort of psychotic break. She's not rational right now."

"How do you know that?"

He shoves a hand roughly through his hair. "When she first came here, she confronted Gail, and tried to slit her wrist. Gail got her to the hospital, but they released her from psychiatric care before I could get there."

Another piece of the puzzle snaps into place. "Georgia. The situation that made you leave early. That was it, wasn't it?"

He nods, sighing. "And it just keeps getting worse. I still don't know what she wants or why she's doing this."

Suddenly, the final piece of the puzzle hits me, and I can feel the horror on my face. And it must be obvious because Christian snaps to attention, his eyes on my face. "What is it?"

I see the face of ghost girl in my head. "Looks like me," I huff. "Except with brown eyes. And shorter, lighter hair?"

Christian pales, and his eyes widen as he steps toward me, grabbing my shoulders. "You've seen her?"

I nod.

"Where? When?"

I manage to stutter through my recollections of the two run-ins, trying to remember everything she said, it all taking on a whole new meaning and making sense now. Christian grows increasingly troubled as I talk, the blood leaving his face. When I finish, he runs both hands through his hair, completely flustered.

"I have no idea how she found out about you," he huffs.

"But you just said she knew the A3 was mine. How else would she have known that?"

His eyes flash to mine in a sideways glance, and he sighs. "I bought one for every sub, Anastasia. She had one so I thought she just assumed it belonged to another sub, but-"

"She knows exactly who I am," I finish for him. He nods.

"I would have never thought she'd bring you into this," he snaps, looking at the floor.

"You said she wanted more," I say, voice quavering slightly, and he looks at me.

"Yes. What about it?"

I shrug. "Maybe that's why. She wants you back?"

He shakes his head with skepticism. "It's been almost three years. She's been married since then. She's been through a lot recently, but I still don't know why that would make her come back here." _Three years. Whoa. That is a while. But even three years isn't enough time to forget a man like Christian Grey. _Christian interrupts my thoughts.

"I don't know how volatile she is. Especially now that she's involved you. You're staying here until I find her and get her help." His voice rings with finality, no room for argument. I blink, taken aback.

"Excuse me?" _My _voice rings with indignation. His gray eyes flash, and he crosses his arms, face rigid.

"I know you still have problems with me. And that's fine. But you're not leaving this apartment, Anastasia. It's not safe."

My mouth drops open, completely affronted. "First of all," I begin, trying to reign in the sudden spike of anger. "You can't keep me here. Second of all, I don't really see the danger. If she wanted to hurt me, I'm pretty sure she already would have."

"First of all," he mimics my words in such a patronizing way that I want to slap him. "Yes I can – and I will. Second of all, things have changed since she last confronted you. I think she's planning something. I don't know what it is yet, and I won't take that sort of risk with you."

My hands ball into fists at my sides, and after a very long moment of silent fuming, I decide to let his former statement go for right now. "What do you mean 'changed'? What's going on?"

"It's none of your concern."

"The hell it's not!" I spit. "She's shown up and accosted me twice, and has now defaced the car I was driving. I believe this does concern me."

His jaw flexes, and he looks at me appraisingly. I count five seconds before he speaks. "She was issued a gun permit yesterday," he finally says, voice cold and hard.

My breath leaves me as quickly as my anger does. "She can get a gun," I whisper, and Christian nods.

_A gun? What the hell does she want a gun for? _My throat closes. _Oh God, is she planning on hurting Christian? _Panic starts to rise into my mouth as I think about that. Christian comes toward me, stopping just short, not touching me.

"So now you see why I need you here. I have to keep an eye on you just in case she's decided to go after you."

"Me? What about _you_?"

Christian rolls his eyes. "I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. Besides, she'd have a much harder time getting to either of us here. So you have to stay Ana, until I get this under control."

"I have to go home, Christian." There's no anger left behind my voice. I'm too horrified by the thought of anyone hurting Christian. "I can't just stay here, locked up."

He drags both hands through his hair again, looking at me with eyes burning. "Ana, _please_," he begs. "If you value my sanity at all, don't fight me on this. Your safety is my number one priority. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me."

I chew on my lip, trying desperately to find a way out of this – the rewind button so I can just go back to before this, when we were finally talking. As if he can read my thoughts, Christian goes on. "Besides. We still have to talk. This way, we'll have plenty of time together to do so." I want to roll my eyes at that last ditch excuse, but I don't. I stare at him, not even blinking, his face pleading and desperate. _It's not _my_ safety I'm concerned about. It's his. If I leave, I won't be able to stop thinking about this, wondering every second if something's going to happen. If I stay, then I'll know he's alright. I can keep an eye on him, while making him happy by letting him keep an eye on me. _Then, something else occurs to me – _If she really is after me too, then being at the apartment would put Kate and Ethan in harm's way too. And having security around isn't something I can explain. Besides…he is right about the talking thing. If we do manage to work this out, then I'm not going to want to leave anyway…_

"Okay," I finally whisper. "I don't have to go anywhere just yet."

His shoulders slump with relief, and he closes the gap between us, catching me and hugging me to him. "Thank you," he says fervently.

I tentatively return the embrace. "I told you the other night – asking nicely will always get you way more with me than demanding it."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just instinct. I don't know any different way."

"Yeah. About that…"

He releases me suddenly. "Yes, I know we have to finish talking. But first I have to speak with Taylor – tell him everything you told me."

I nod, and with one last look at me, he strides away, leaving me alone again. With my reeling thoughts.

_So an ex-sub of Christian's has been harassing us both? What does she want? _I ask myself the question, but I already know the answer. She wants the same thing I do – Christian. And I can't say I really blame her. But I guess the real question would be _Why is she doing all of this? She wanted his attention – now she has it. Why does she keep running? _Then, the whole gun thing comes back into my mind, chilling me to the bone. I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that we only know she got a permit for one. Not that she actually has one. Or even plans on using it if she does. _Oh come on, you twit! She wouldn't have gotten the permit if she wasn't going to get a gun. And what else would she use a gun for – target practice at the local range? _My subconscious snaps at me, and my tiny sliver of hope vanishes. I know she's right.

I pace around the bar. Christian said it's been almost three years since she was with him. That's a long time, and he said she got married since then. So what made her come back now? And what does her husband know? I should have asked earlier, but everything is moving so quickly that my thoughts are barely keeping up. And why would she want to hurt Christian – if that's what the gun is for? _Oh Jesus. I'm gunna explode one of these days. _

I run my hands through my tangled hair, the reminder that I'm still a just-rolled-out-of-bed-mess. Suddenly, I desperately want a shower. To hit pause on everything for fifteen minutes while I massage my scalp and wash my hair. To just forget all the worry and confusion for a few minutes and take a breather.

The problem is – everything I need is at home. Which presents a problem if I'm going to be staying here indefinitely. After a little deliberation, I walk over to my abandoned purse, digging out my phone and dialing.

I've called Kate's cell, so I'm surprised when it's not Kate who answers. It's Ethan.

"Hey, where's Kate?" I ask after I've established it's him on the other end.

"Oh sorry. She's in the shower. I can have her call when she gets out."

"No, that's alright. I'm actually calling cause I need a favor. And now that I think about it, you might be better for the job."

"Okay. Whatchya got?" I tell him briefly what I need.

"Wow, Steele. Things must be going great if you plan on staying so long that you need a bag put together," he comments lightly.

I sigh. "Not really. It's complicated though."

"Alright. It'll only take me a few minutes to scrounge something up. Where does Grey live?"

"It's just a few miles away." I give him the address, and what he needs to get into the parking garage and the elevator.

"Thanks, Ethan. I really owe you one."

"Nah. I'm happy to help. So I'll see you in about fifteen, kay?"

"Okay. Thanks," I say.

"Anytime. Laters,"

"Laters."  
We hang up, and I put my phone back down, awaiting the arrival of clean clothes and shampoo.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Okay, everyone! Drum roll please! The moment we've all been waiting for! And I have to confess – I literally cried at one point writing this chapter! And I hope you all feel half the emotion I did! ENJOY!**

* * *

Closer to twenty-five minutes later, I get a text from Ethan.

***On my way up***

Christian still hasn't returned from wherever he disappeared to, and I'm still pacing anxiously around the kitchen. The text is what finally gives me something else to think about other than a mentally unstable woman carrying around a gun that she might be intending to use to hurt the man I love. Or me. Who knows? Maybe both of us. I repress a shudder, forcing myself to be half-way normal while I scurry through the great room and toward the elevator.

I'm barely there when the door pings open, reveling Ethan, black duffle back in hand. His eyes flicker to me for a second before straying to our surroundings, widening as he takes in the scene. I imagine I looked much the same the first time I saw it too, so I can't help the small smile that curves my lips as I step forward.

Ethan's gaze settles back on me as he steps out of the elevator, meeting me at the entrance of the palatial room. His eyebrows lift. "Fancy digs," he comments, coming to stop in front of me.

I shrug, noncommittal and not really interested in discussing Christian's gross surplus of wealth. I look pointedly at the bag he's holding. "Thanks for this."

"Sure." He hands over the little suitcase. "Kate was the one who put it together. She wanted to bring it to you as well, but I could tell that was only an excuse to get at Grey." He smiles ruefully. "You know how she is."

"Yeah," I say fondly. "That's why I'm glad you answered. I wasn't thinking when I called her cell."

Ethan nods, his hands sliding casually into his pockets as he looks around the room absentmindedly. "I can see why you don't want to leave." His light tone and the amused flash in his eyes makes it obvious that he's just kidding. But the little attempt at a joke does nothing to alleviate my suddenly troubled mood.

I can feel my lips curve into a frown. "It's complicated. I can't go into detail, but right now, I can't leave."

I can tell that he's curious and would like to question my response, but thankfully, Ethan has much more self-control when it comes to interrogation than his little sister. So after a moment, he nods. But he does ask, "Is everything okay? I mean, you're not being held hostage are you?" He only says it half-jokingly. _Well, sort of. _Hmm, how to explain in an appropriate manner…

"I am. But voluntarily," I finally settle, saying the words as lightly and flippantly as possible. I succeed so that it almost sounds like some cute situation. Huh. Ethan nods, mollified, and I decide to just throw in small talk to get the concentration off of me.

"So what are you guys doing today without me?"

It works. Ethan looks completely distracted. "Uh. After Elliot gets off of work, we're bowling tonight." He makes a face. "Elliot's bringing their little sister along too. I think they're just trying to make me not feel like a third wheel. But I'm not exactly looking forward to the awkwardness of feeling like I've been put on a blind date."

"Mia?" I asked, surprised. "It'll be okay. I've met her – she's cool. I don't think anyone can feel awkward around her."

He sighs a little, but nods. "You sure you can't come, too? It'd be fun to watch you whoop their asses with that crazy aim you have."

I can't help by crack a smile of satisfaction. Ethan is one of the few who has seen me in action at a bowling alley. Who knew all that target practice with Ray would be helpful for such a thing? "No," I answer a little regretfully. "I need to stay here for now. I have no time to spare if I'm actually gunna succeed at figuring this shit out."

Ethan nods with encouragement. "I get it." _Oh if you only knew. _

"Anyways, thanks for this," I say lifting the bag a few inches.

He shrugs casually. "No problem."

"And tell Kate to chill – I'm alright." He blinks, suddenly looking at me with speculation.

"Are you?" he asks as if to make sure this is really the truth.

_Not in the least. _"Yes. I'm fine. Stop worrying."

He keeps studying me thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. Then, he surprises me but pulling me into a light hug. I return it with my free arm. He pulls back, a small, reassuring smile on his lips which I return.

But suddenly, his eyes shift, flickering to something beyond me and his face goes completely blank before a small frown forms on his lips. Instinctively, I glance over my shoulder, and I immediately see the source of the change. And even I can't help but gulp convulsively.

Because my eyes meet the icy ones of Christian – who is suddenly standing at the mouth of the hall, having stopped short to burn Ethan and I with that fiery glare. His jaw clenches as he merely stands there rigidly. _Shit. _I mentally curse myself. I was hoping to have Ethan out of here before Christian even realized he was here.

I hastily return my eyes attention to Ethan, switching to pre-damage control.

"Again – thanks for doing this. I'll talk you later, kay?" I say, my voice assuming a polite, formal quality. Ethan murmurs his assent, already turning back to the elevator. I walk the few steps over with him.

"If you need anything else, just call, okay?" he says, equally polite as he steps in.

"I will."

"Laters, Steele." And the doors close, cutting off my view of him. But it also leaves me to face the arctic storm I can feel brewing behind me. So with a deep breath, I tentatively turn on my heel to face it.

I find that Christian's moved closer, but his face remains stony and distant. Not angry, but not far from it.

I decide that distraction is the best way to curtail whatever problem he has in that mercurial mind of his. I keep my face impassive. "What'd Taylor say?"

He blinks, then levels me a serious look. "What was he doing here?" His tone seems as if he's trying hard to control his voice.

I gesture to the bag. "I needed some stuff brought from home." He frowns but seems to calm just a smidge.

"That was unnecessary. The room upstairs is still full of clothes for you. And I could have arranged for anything else to be bought." I can feel the shock go across my face at the mention of the sub room. And the clothes. He's kept them up there? _Does this mean he expects me to move back into that room, and actually wear them…just like a sub would?! _What the hell? I shake my head, not wanting to let him see the sudden feeling of hurt that brings on as I consider that. Suddenly, I feel incredibly defensive.

My chin lifts fractionally. "If I'm going to be held hostage," I say acidly, using Ethan's words. "I'd prefer to at least have my own things."

I ignore the flash in Christian's eyes, breaking my gaze from his as I suddenly turn, already heading for the staircase. I guess if he's going to act like this, then I'd prefer the room upstairs anyway. I don't need this shit right now.

But I only get three strides away when Christian makes me stop. "Why him?" he suddenly demands, coming a step closer. I stop short, looking back at him, surprised when I see the tiny spark of emotion in their smoky depths.

"What do you mean?"

He gestures to where Ethan just disappeared. "You said you didn't sleep with him, but he obviously means something to you. And you to him. So – why him?"

I blanch, faltering for a second. Finally, "We're just friends. I've told you this." My cheeks redden, and I feel my pulse speed up at where this could be going. I really have no desire to get into this right now.

His eyes narrow skeptically, going distant again. "Didn't look like it when you were grinding on him Friday night," he says, voice ice cold.

My lips part with a stab of indignation brought on by the almost…accusation I can hear in his voice. And his frosty demeanor and hard expression do nothing but add to it.

And that's it. I'm not sure why, but the sudden personality change from Mr. Mercurial – completely opposite from what he was like in the kitchen before Taylor came in – is the straw that breaks this girl's back.

I let the bag drop from my hand with a flourish, facing him fully again and planting my feet so that my stance is steady, grounded. "Ethan was there when I needed him to be," I snap, on the offensive now. Christian responds immediately, stepping forward, his shoulders widening and his chin lifting – obviously a dominating stance. _Well, not today buddy. _

"By that, I'm guessing you mean _when I wasn't_?" he asks, voice still deceptively calm. I let the hard set of my face do the talking for me as I just stare at him. After a long moment, he takes two long strides closer, but stopping. "I _was _there, Anastasia," he says slowly, voice fierce. "The whole time you've been gone, there hasn't been a moment when I wasn't with you. I've done everything to stay in your life in every way I could and make sure you're safe. _Besides,_" he adds. "I think you should keep in mind that _you _were the one who walked away from _me. _So stop talking as if it were the other way around."

My mouth drops open further, the air leaving me as if he's slapped me. "What do you expect, Christian?" I demand, my voice colored with outrage. "I wasn't just going to stay here and pretend that we would have ever worked – that I was okay with it." I stagger a step forward, blood rising to my face. "You asked 'why him'. And _this_ –" I gesture wildly at Christian. "is exactly why!"

"I don't have to do all this shit with him! I don't have to worry constantly about what mood he's in, because I'm afraid of saying something to piss him off. And more importantly, I don't have to be afraid that _if I do piss him off, _that he's going to find some painful way to punish me!" I stop, taking a deep breath as Christian continues to glower at me.

"I don't have to change for him," I say, my voice lower and slower this time as I try to calm down.

"I wasn't asking you to!" Christian retorts. "You're exactly what I want you to be!"

"You say that, but then the impression you give is totally different. One minute you say you like it when I challenge you. Then in the next, you say you want me to obey you. One minute you like my smart mouth. Then you want to punish me for it. God, Christian! Do you have _any idea _what it's like being with you?! You're not confusing – you're a fucking head trip! I'm constantly having to wonder what version of you I'm going get! Just like now." I gesture to him again. "Not a half hour ago, you were all 'I want you back…let's try again' – being all sweet. Then this! I cannot keep up with you!"

"I do want to try again," he presses, coming closer. "And I _do _like your smart mouth. And I _love_ when you challenge me. It's exciting and refreshing. But it's not something I know, Ana. I'm still learning how to handle it – how to react to it. It's just as confusing to me too. But that doesn't mean you're anything less than perfect to me – exactly who and what I want you to be. I _need _you, Anastasia. I _need _you to come back. I'm losing my mind here without you."

My heart swells and cracks. "But I'm not the only thing you need." My voice is quiet, all irritation gone, only despair left as I propose the crux of our problem.

"No." He starts shaking his head vigorously. "You're wrong."

"You told me yourself," I protest.

Christian sighs, closing his eyes momentarily before crossing the rest of the room, closing the distance between us until he's right in front of me. He grips both of my shoulders, looking me straight in the eye, determined to get his point across. "And I was wrong," he says firmly. "Ana, when you left, my whole worldview changed. Everything that I thought I needed – everything I thought I was – vanished. Everything that mattered suddenly didn't. Now, all that matters to me is you. Us. That's all I need anymore."

I stay silent, too afraid to say anything – too afraid to hear what he's saying. Because I feel the same way. Instead, I gaze at his unwavering expression, returning it dubiously, guardedly.

His eyes flash. "You don't believe me?" he demands indignantly.

My eyes roam over his perfect face, seeing the earnestness, the honesty. "Yes," I finally decide, and he sighs with relief. But I go on. "But that can change."

I can tell he's about to protest. "No, let me finish," I say. "We just met, Christian. You mean it now, but what about a few weeks from now when we get into a fight and I mouth off, and you can't do anything about it?" My voice gets louder and Christian's eyes widen as I keep going, getting more and more emotional. "What about next month when I _really_ piss you off so bad that all you want to do is beat the hell out of me? Or what about when you simply start missing it? Because it'll happen, Christian. Then, every time you look at me, all you'll see is what I took from you. And whether you acknowledge it or not, you'll eventually resent me for it." Tears well up in my eyes and immediately cascade down my face from the agony that thought incites. "And I'd much rather walk away now than to ever lose you like that." My voice cracks at the end.

More tears start to fall so that it's just an unending stream of salt water. And through the blur in my vision, I see the horror on Christian's face at the picture I've just painted. He steps closer, moving his hands from my shoulders to my jaw, cradling my face. "That would never happen, Ana," he whispers, voice anguished. "I could never resent you at all. And you're not taking anything from me, baby. Don't you see – you're _giving _me everything I never thought I could have."

And suddenly, his lips are crashing down on mine, hard yet gloriously soft at the same time. They part, demanding mine do the same while he attempts to wordlessly quell my fears.

And I feel it – the emotion. The hurt, the jealousy, the anger, and yes, the love. All pouring out of him as I match the soundless exchange. And that's it – every wall, every inhibition just crumbles in a nanosecond. I can't fight it, my need for this man. And I don't want to anymore.

I sob into his mouth, throwing my arms around his neck, clutching desperately at him. His do the same around my waist, one gripping my rear and holding me against him. His tongue delves into my mouth, colliding with mine almost violently. One of my hands fists into his hair, pulling. I don't stop to consider that it might hurt, that we still don't have everything worked out. I just care about him…kissing me.

And along with every other overwhelming emotion, I feel something else, something that has been lost to me since I left. Desire. Need and want and lust all swirl around, mixing and producing a strong combination. My Inner Goddess finally comes out hiding, dressed in full cheerleader gear, waving her pom-poms in celebration.

Suddenly, my back hits a wall, even though I wasn't aware we had moved. Christian pins me against the surface, tilting his head and forcing his tongue deeper. I have no clue how long we stay at it, but eventually, the kiss breaks, both of us breathless and gasping for air.

Christian's eyes are scintillating, gray fire burning into mine. "What aren't you telling me?" he gasps. I blink, confused. He grasps my face in his hands. "There's more. The worry of what you think I need isn't the whole reason. You're holding back, Ana. Tell me – what are you so afraid of?"

I suck in another ragged breath. "You," I whimper. Christian's eye go wide, clearly horrified. "I'd never hurt you, baby," he swears, alarmed, as he misconstrues my words.

"No no no." I shake my head. "That's not what I meant." I pause, my breathing returning to normal as I gather my thoughts. "I'm scared of what you make me feel," I confess. "I'm scared of losing myself to you."

"What do you mean?" His voice is soothing, trying to calm me. I sigh, taking a step down the wall and pulling out of his grasp.

"It's only been a few weeks, Christian," I say. "And without you, it already feels like a piece of me is missing. So how much longer before every part of me is so wrapped up in you, that there's nothing left?"

With my back still against the wall, I slide down until I hit the floor, my knees bent in front of me. "What if this ends badly again?" Christian crouches beside me, but I lean my head against the wall, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. "And if I'm completely defined by you, then there's not going to be anything left without you. So where would that leave me?" I roll my head to the side to look at him staring at me with consternation. "That's what scares me the most," I whisper, reaching up to wipe at stray tears.

Christian exhales sharply, then drops down to his knees, still beside me. "Don't you see that I feel the same way, Ana? That every part of this terrifies me too?" He puts one hand on my knee. "But you're already assuming that this _will _end. You're thinking about the wrong situation here. What if it doesn't end? Because trust me, I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening. You just have to trust me."

He scoots closer, grasping my face again. "I know it's not going to be easy. I know we're still getting to know each other. And I know it's going to take a lot of work. But you have to give me the chance to at least try. I want to make you happy, Ana. Seeing you like this – in pain. And knowing that I'm the reason for it…that hurts me. And all I'm asking for is a chance to make it right." He pauses, leaning closer as if to get a point across.

My tears start back up, and he brushes them gently away with his thumbs. "Tell me what you want, Ana. You never told me what you want from me."

"I want everything," I cry softly. "I want you. All of you. Without the games and rules."

"Okay." He nods once. "No rules."

"No punishments," I whisper, and he nods again.

"Alright. That's good – keep going."  
I shrug a little, not knowing what else to say. "I just want normal."

His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, and he levels me an attentive look. "You want vanilla?"

"I –" I open my mouth, then shrug again. "I guess."

"Just vanilla – no kinky fuckery at all?"

I gape, taken off guard by his nonchalance. "Kinky fuckery?" Despite everything, I actually crack a smile. But Christian isn't to be deterred. He nods. "Yes. Kinky fuckery. Is that alright or not?"

I glance down, shifting as I think about it. The riding crop…the Thomas Tallis…My Inner Goddess falls to her knees, begging. Finally, "I like your kinky fuckery," I admit, my cheeks reddening.

At this, Christian smiles. "That's what I thought. So it's just pain you're scared of?" I nod. "Alright. No pain. I can do that. Is that all?"

I swallow hard. "I want you to open up to me. To let me in."

Christian blinks, surprised. Then wary. "You already know more than anyone," he hedges. I look at him dubiously but say, "But I want to know more. Everything." His lips thin, and he frowns suddenly. "I don't want to make things even more complicated than they have to be. I don't want the things of my past haunting you like that." _I don't want to freak you out _is unspoken but I hear it in the air. He's told me that I would run if he told me his secret, and I can see that that's what he's afraid of.

"Nothing you tell me will change how I feel about you," I say. "I understand it'll take time. I don't expect it all at once, but I want to know you inside and out. I want to be as close to you as possible."

His frown deepens, and his brow furrows. Finally, he sighs. "Okay," he says hesitantly. "I can't make any promises. But I'll try. For you, Ana, I'll try." It stabs at my heart when I realize this is the exact thing he said when he said he would try for more.

His Adam's apple bobs with a swallow. "But this is new to me, Ana, and I'm still trying to figure it out. I've only known one way of doing things for a long time now, so I'm going to make mistakes. I'm going to fuck up now and then. So you're going to have to be patient with me and have a little faith."

"Faith and patience. I can do that," I mimic his words.

"So please, Ana. Give us another shot. Let me show you."

"Show me what?"

"How good it can be." His face expresses his plea. "Let me show you more."

"Why me?" I whisper. I've asked this question before, but I've yet to get a straight answer.

"You know why," he says, looking wary.

"No," I disagree. "I don't."

He sighs, shifting and looking away for a moment before speaking. "Before you," he says, sounding deep in thought. "I was merely living day to day, but I wasn't really _alive_. Then you came along and changed that – you gave me something to live for. I've never had a heart, Ana, because I never had anything to care about. Because you _are _my heart. I just didn't know it until you found me. And now, I'm scared of what I'll become without you."

My heart feels like it's about to burst. I nod, now understanding. And suddenly, I know he feels the same as I do. And just as strongly. There's no more doubt about it anymore. The revelation is so intensely liberating, destroying all my qualms.

"I get it," I say. "I know how you feel about me."

His eyes go wide with obvious fear. "You do?"

I reach up to stroke his face, now smooth from shaving. "You love me," I marvel, the truth of that finally hitting home, cutting through all my fear and insecurity.

He gasps. "Yeah," he huffs, bobbing his head. "I do. I never thought I was capable of it, but after hearing you say it, it's like you set something free. You gave that to me. So please, baby. Come back to me. Let me love you."

"Okay," I say without hesitation, a few more tears falling. "Let's try this again."

I watch as Christian's face changes – registering first relief, then a joy so acute that it makes my heart hurt. A glorious smile that rivals any sunrise breaks across his face, and suddenly, I'm in his arms, cradled to him as he holds me.

He buries his face in my neck. "Thank you, baby." He kisses my shoulder. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, hugging him hard. And for the first time in what feels like eons, everything's right in the world. The way it should be. Because we were meant to be together.

We stay like that, on the floor, hugging each other for quite some time. But eventually, Christian pulls back to look me in the eye. And the incandescent happiness I feel blooming inside of me is reflected in his eyes.

"So Miss Steele, I have only one more question for you," he says.

I raise my eyebrows, curious. "And what's that?"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

I can't help it – I laugh out loud at the totally unexpected request. His gray eyes twinkle with delight. "Sure, Mr. Grey. I'll go out with you. But where to, exactly?"

The glimmer in his eyes gets more pronounced. "I have something I want to show you," he says with a secret smile playing on those gorgeous lips.

"Show me more?" I guess, recalling the words he just spoke. He nods, then flashes a smile. "Exactly."

Abruptly, he gets his feet underneath him and stands, towering above me. He offers me his hand. "I already made the calls to set it up. We'll eat breakfast then leave."

I put my hand in his, letting him pull me up. "Can I have a shower first?"

He grins again. "You can have anything you want." And I can't help but blush with the way he's looking at me.

"Just one thing," he says suddenly.

"What?"

He gives me a sideways glance. "Do you get seasick?"

**A/N: So? What did ya think? Did I do it justice? Dramatic enough? Review!**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Okay, I am so sorry for the delay. But I just started treatments for Lyme Disease and a lot of the problem i've been having because of it! And this past week has been rough. Been in a lot of pain and everything has been so freaking crazy! But i've finally got this for you, and i'm working on the next one now! Hopefully, I'll be able to get the next one up quick for you! Just bear with me guys!**

**Enjoy!**

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"You sure know how to impress a girl, Mr. Grey," I murmur, gazing serenely out over the water.

Christian presses a soft kiss behind my ear, sending chills down my spine. "I'm glad you like it," he says warmly, clearly pleased by this fact.

"You weren't lying about expensive hobbies," I remark lightly. His lips quirk up. "Actually," he says. "Sailing is the least expensive among the gliding and flying."

I shake my head, but my lips stay curved into the same smile that's been there for over an hour. _The Grace _is gliding effortlessly over the water toward the Olympic Peninsula, the wind tossing tendrils of my hair around and brushing across my skin in the most fantastic way.

Christian's lips caress my temple. "I've never seen you this happy before," he whispers against my ear. I turn my face into him.

"Because I've never been this happy before." I glance up shyly, and he blinks down at me, his face going blank as if surprised, just before breaking into a smile.

He hugs me closer to him. "Me either," he says into my hair, and I think my face is about to split in half from the size of my smile.

I sigh ruefully. "I wish we could just stay here forever. In our own little world."

"Me too. So we'll just have to enjoy it while we can."

We fall silent, but talking about staying in our own little world serves as a reminder that the outside world is still waiting – no matter who peaceful and carefree life seems at the moment. And of course, the biggest worry about the outside world is the fact that a psychotic ex-submissive who possibly has a gun is lurking around, with various unknown motives and intentions. And through the contented sense of bliss, I feel the icy grip of fear squeeze around my heart, reminding me that not all is perfect – no matter how flawless this one afternoon has turned out to be.

"Hey," Christian croons, making me look back up at him. His fingertips brush the side of my mouth. "Why are you frowning?"

I sigh again, turning my face back toward the water, the frown deepening. We haven't talked about any of this yet. I'm dying to ask questions, but I'm afraid it'll ruin the mood. After all, Christian has been uncharacteristically happy and caring, with not one mood swing interfering. And I don't want to be the reason that changes.

"What's wrong?" Christian asks with more concern this time.

I hesitate a moment longer, before finally deciding to just get it out, address the elephant in the room, or on the boat rather. "Do really have no idea why Leila is doing this?" I blurt. Christian immediately tenses against me, and I want to curse myself. But I'm surprised when I look up at him but don't the see the guarded look he uses when he wants to shrug something off. Instead, I see disquieted concern.

"No," he answers, voice low but stressed. "I've been turning it over for more than two weeks, looking at every angle. But I still can't imagine why she would think to come here as long as it's been."

_Holy crap! He's actually talking to me like a normal person! _Nothing about his response sounds grudging or forced. Which is a first. I shift onto my other foot, trying to stay nonchalant while I take advantage of the moment.

"You said she'd been through a lot recently – what does that mean?" I ask, trying better to understand. Maybe if he can't understand, then a more objective, outside view will be able to help.

He sighs. "About three months ago, she suddenly left her husband for someone else. But four weeks ago, this boyfriend was killed in a car accident. The grief…" He shrugs. "I don't know…Caused a mental break, I guess."  
_God, that is a lot of shit. _"Does her family know anything?" I chance another question.

He shakes his head. "No. They haven't seen or heard from her recently."

"And her husband?"

"Asshole's completely disowned her. Doesn't seem to care what happens to her. But I believe him when he says he hasn't seen her either."

_She's alone. How sad. _I think about what Christian told me earlier. "So she tried to kill herself?"

He frowns. "I'm not sure if that was her intention. The shrink at the hospital called it a typical cry for help as opposed to a real suicide attempt. That's why she was released so soon. Damn doctor. If not for him, this would have been over long by now."

"And today was the first time she's gone back to Escala since then?"

Christian sighs and nods, mouth grim. I'm still trying to come up with any other questions when Christian fills the new silence. "That's it!"

"What?" I ask, confused. His gray eyes are lit with understanding.

"It's you." _Okay, now I'm really confused. _

"What are you talking about?"

Christian shifts, so that he's leaning against the side of the boat, facing me. "There's only one thing different since Leila was with me and now." He gives me a pointed look.

_Oh. _"You think she's acting like this because of me?"

"It would explain why after all this time, she chooses now to show up. And it explains why she's confronted you too."

"And why she chose today to show back up at Escala. She saw I was there," I surmise. Christian's lips flatten with displeasure. "Yes…about the car. I already told Taylor to order a new A3 for you. So don't worry about it." _What? _My eyes flash to him, full of reproach.

"I wasn't worried about it. Because I don't want another one."

He gives me a sideways glance. "Don't start this again, Ana," he warns lightly.

"I'm not starting anything." I purposefully keep my voice low, calm. "I'm just telling you I don't want another one."

"Ana, that car was yours, and I want to replace it."

_Will this man ever cease to be so exasperating? _"Forgive me, but I don't think I want to drive a car that happens to be some generic sub thing you do. I have enough reminders of them all as it is." My tone is a tad sharper because of tiny stab of offense I have after learning the A3 was just a routine thing – which he led me to believe was a graduation gift. Yes, I was never happy about it, but at least I thought it was a special occurrence. You know, something he did just for me. I guess I didn't realize how much that fact meant to me until now.

Christian blanches momentarily, taken off guard. Then, he blinks and frowns. "I see. We'll get a different model then. I can take you to a dealership."

I sigh sharply. "I don't want you buying me another car, period, Christian."

He runs his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Do you really want to argue right now? Or could we just drop it, and enjoy ourselves?"

That stops me in my tracks, making whatever retort I had ready to die on my lips. Because he's right. We've had such a great time till now, and I don't want to ruin it. So, quieted for the moment, I simply turn my slightly annoyed attention back to the scenery in front of me.

A long moment passes, full of tense silence. But finally, out of my periphery, I see Christian shift and pull at his hair once more. I hear a soft sigh, then, "So you like the boat?" The words are conversational, an ice-breaker after a moment of discord. But the way he speaks them – with a tone that says my opinion means something to him – is what disarms me.

"I love it. Almost as good as Charlie Tango."

He grins, clearly very pleased. "I have business in Portland on Friday," he tells me. "I'll take you with me. Chase the dusk again." I think my heart melts.

I raise an eyebrow and smirk at him. "Hmm. Already making plans for a second date, huh?"  
He grins crookedly at me. "Well that depends."

"On what?" His grin gets bigger.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "If you put out or not."

My mouth falls open with faux outrage. "Mr. Grey! So crude! You should be ashamed of yourself – talking to lady like that."

He kisses my temple before pulling back, eyes twinkling. "Trust me, Miss Steele. Referring to making love to you is not something to be ashamed of." _Making love? He's never said that before! _My melted heart stutters, then speeds up.

My cheeks turn pink, and my eyes flutter with surprise. And since I can't seem to come up with a response, I just stay quiet and bask in the moment.

Christian's fingers slide gently over my forearm which is resting on the rail, sending tingles where his skin meets mine. And suddenly, all I can seem to think about is me and him…doing what he just mentioned…Christian breaks through my steamy thoughts.

"Does it hurt?" _Huh? _

My eyes snap up to his face to find his eyes trained on his fingers. I look down to find them right over the fading bruise. "Not really," I answer. "Just a little tender under pressure."

"Fucker's probably going to make bail this week," he growls under his breath. _Whoa that's news!_

"Really?"

Christian nods grimly. "I have lawyers all over it, but they can't do much about it for now."

A shudder runs up my spine as memories of Jack's feral blue eyes come back to me. Christian hugs me to his side. "Don't worry, baby. You're safe. I'll make sure he doesn't get anywhere near you."

"I know," I sigh. "I'm more worried about you."

Confusion sweeps his face. "Me?"

"Yes. You," I say obviously. "There's a mentally unstable woman out there with a gun."

The corner of his lip lifts ruefully. "I'll be fine. I have a whole security team to make sure of it."

"Does Taylor carry a gun?"

I'm surprised when I see Christian's lips flatten with displeasure. "Unfortunately."

"You talk as if that's a bad thing," I state, the question laced in my voice.

"I don't like guns," he grumbles. "Grace and Carrick raised me very pro-gun control."

I snort. "Don't ever say that to Ray." When I get a questioning glance from Christian, I go on. "He's ex-army. Guns are a hobby to him. He's had me shooting since I was thirteen."

"You can shoot a gun?" His voice sounds shocked…and a little horrified. It makes me smile.

I grin. Proudly. "Yes. And very well. You might want to keep that in mind." He swallows, recovering himself.

"Will do, Miss Steele."

I smile to myself, welcoming the return of the warm and fuzzy feelings that the little bit of banter has manage to bring back. I turn, putting the rail to my side so we're facing each other. The move gives me a better look at the _real _view. And as beautiful as _The Grace _and the surrounding area is, my eyes are a tad partial to gazing upon Christian Grey.

He gives me a small smile, his eyes bright, happy. His hair resembles a new penny, catching the sun while the wind tousles it. The sight is irresistible, and I find myself reaching toward the silky locks, wanting to feel the strands between my fingers.

But before I get there, Christian's hand come up, catching mine. Just when I glance back at his face, he brings my hand to his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on the back of it. The action is innocent. But the guarded look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.

And suddenly, I comprehend something I hadn't yet even thought about.

I look him in the eye. "You're still not going to let me touch you, are you?" I keep my voice neutral and my face as bland as possible.

His jaw tightens and he weaves our fingers together, staring at them. "No." It's what I expected, but it still doesn't stop the acute sense of disappointment I feel.

Before I can say anything, Christian finally looks back up at me, his eyes desperate. "I'm sorry," he says, and I can tell he really means it. But suddenly, I'm taken by surprise when my mind is invaded of mental images of him being perfectly fine with a certain _someone _touching him with her filthy pedo claws.

"How come your Mrs. Robinson can touch you, and I can't?" I hear myself demanding.

Surprise colors Christian's face for a tiny second before turning defensive. "She's not my Mrs. Robinson," he says carefully. Then, "And she knows where."

"So some places are okay?" He reluctantly nods, then shifts uncomfortably. I watch as a flash of what looks like panic light his eyes. So much so, that I can't help but feel guilty for causing it. So, I avert my eyes, turning back to the open waters and letting the subject go for now. _Change the subject…change the subject…_my subconscious orders. But apparently I don't have to, because Mac's deep Irish accent cuts through the silence.

Mac shouts some nautical terms I don't fully understand, but I vaguely get that he needs help setting the anchor now that we've neared Bainbridge Island.

"I'll be back," Christian murmurs, planting a hard kiss on my head.

In just a few minutes, the engine has been cut and the anchor lowered, pulling us to a peaceful halt. I'm so absorbed in the tranquility that I start a little when Christian comes up behind me.

"Mac is going ashore," he announces.

_Huh? _I instinctively look around, and sure enough – I spot Mac on the other end of the huge boat, settling into the inflatable dinghy. I glance back at Christian. "For what?"

Christian smirks. "Give us some privacy."

I cock a brow at him. "For what exactly."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the cabin. "Come." My heart leaps in my mouth, and my inner goddess pokes her head out, eyes bright and excited. Christian has been surprisingly hands-off with me since we repaired our rift. Half of me loves the fact that he's simply being sweet, taking time to romance me and let our wounds heal. But the other half is dying, wanting to just pounce on him and rip his clothed from that yummy body of his. It's quite the dilemma. But it seems like maybe it's about to be solved either way…

Christian leads me into the cozy cabin area. He's already given me a tour, so he doesn't pause for preamble before leading me straight for the bedroom, softly decorated with cream and blue.

With me still holding my breath and giddy with excitement, Christian stops by the bed and turns back around. And I'm taken aback by his expression. Instead of desire and lust and urgency, I see a tense businesslike look.

He gazes at me almost expectantly. "Where'd you put your purse?" he asks. I blink, totally off guard. _My purse? Um…Okay…_

"Uh…over there…" I point to where I stashed it earlier when he first brought me aboard.

"May I see it?" he asks, not missing a beat.

"Sure?" It sounds like a question because of the blatant confusion I feel. Christian nods and moves around me, crossing the small space easily to where my bag is. He grabs the straps and moves it to the bed, standing over it. I watch, perplexed as his deft fingers delve inside.

"If you wanted a tampon, you could've just asked," I hedge, and I'm rewarded with a smirk from Christian. But he doesn't stop rummaging. Luckily, I downsized bags recently so there's not too much crap for him to sift through before he finally finds what he's looking for. He stills, his fingers wrapped around something. He brings it out, and after a moment, I realize what it is.

"Lipstick?" I ask, recognizing the tube I stashed in there Friday night. I had thrown it in with the eyeliner in case of an emergency touch-up while I was out with Ethan. And I haven't thought to take it out since. _But what would he want with lipstick? _My cheeks redden when I consider this might have something to do with his "kinky fuckery". I know so little…

I watch as Christian stows my bag back where it was. "Yes, lipstick," he says. Coming back around the bed, he extends the tube to me. Still baffled, I take it, and at the same time Christian grasp the hem of his sweater, pulling it up over his head.

"Christian, what are you doing?" I ask, working not to ogle his shirtless torso.

"I'm going to show you where," he says, suddenly radiating tension. I glance at the lipstick in my hand, then back up at Christian, still completely nonplussed.

"The boundaries," he elaborates, gesturing to himself. And it clicks. _He's going to show me where to touch him! _


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: OMG! I am SO sorry for this wait, everyone! It's not only my personal life, but I had some difficulty getting this chapter come together. I have a bit of writer's fatigue going on. Plus, I wanted this to be perfect! I really hope I can get back on my game soon and get some double updates going again! **

**I would also like to send a HUGE thank you to everyone for all of the well-wishes and support I've gotten! It means the world. You guys are so sweet and the reason I keep writing! I love you all!**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

My inner goddess breaks out into a sexy salsa, completely overjoyed. "So what's the lipstick for?" I can't hide the excitement in my voice. He comes a little closer.

"To draw the lines. Give you something visible to go by so you can learn them. And lipstick is easier to get off than a pen or marker…" He shrugs, clearly uneasy.

I swallow hard, realizing how momentous this is. "Okay." I nod, and he steps around me, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress and holding his hand out to me. When I take it, he guides me to stand between his knees.

"Alright," he says, voice radiating tension. He nods toward the upraised lipstick in my hand. "Open it up."

I comply without hesitation, eager to see where this will go. "Give me your hand." I offer him my empty one.

He rolls his eyes. "The other one, silly girl." His lips twitch and I can't help but smile at the sight. I give him the hand with the lipstick. He curves his wide hand around mine, putting his fingers over mine, and guides both of them up to his shoulder. His gray eyes seem like they could burn me with their heated look, peeking up through his lashes like only he can. Everything tenses – the air around us, him, me, my hand in his.

"Press down." His voice is slightly breathy, matching his eyes. I obey, then stare wide-eyed as he begins to guide my hand down, over his shoulder until it reaches the side of his chest. My eyes watch the movement of our hands which is leaving a light rose color in their wake. But I can feel his gaze on my face as he displays such a precious secret for me, showing me the line, literally.

Once the line reaches the middle of his torso, at the bottom of his ribs, he stops, then directs our path across his stomach. But he surprises me halfway across when he suddenly releases my hand. "Across and up the other side," he murmurs. When my eyes flicker to him, I can see the stress etched around his eyes, the tension in his face - well hidden, but still there.

I nod seriously, continuing the little art experiment. I try to keep my eyes on what I'm doing, but they're are quick to stray to the reason for all of this – the seven little round scars that dot his chest. My stomach flips, completely revolted as I consider what sort of monster would do that to anyone, let alone a child.

Carefully trying to contain my emotion, I draw an exact match of the other side until I've reached his opposite shoulder.

I lift the lipstick. "Is that all?" I ask. Christian merely shakes his head, using his index finger to gesture around his neck. I follow the path he just pointed, painting him with more rosy lines.

Christian drops his eyes, glowering with bemusement down at the cabin floor. "Around to my back," he says quietly. "Follow the line all the way around."

I don't hesitate to follow his orders, kicking off my shoes and crawling onto the bed around him. I stay balanced on my knees as I sit behind him, meticulously using the now-dull tip of the lipstick to trace the exact same line across his lower back. Again, my eyes zero in on the scars, two more on this side of his violated body. I have to fight the overwhelming urge to kiss them, an instinctual response of comfort. But I know the action would do anything but comfort him.

I keep a firm hold on my emotions, forcing tears not to pool in my eyes, not to show the depth of my sorrow for this man who has apparently been hurt so badly. Finally, I lift the lipstick again. "There," I say, my voice betraying the emotion I'm trying to hide. "Done."

Immediately, I see Christian's shoulders fall as he relaxes, and I realize what an ordeal this is for him – what he's doing for me. The emotion gets even harder to contain. Slowly, he turns on the edge of the bed. I stay on my knees but scoot back to give him room to face me, bringing his legs up and sitting cross legged before me. I take my time in closing the tube, recapping it as the silence stretches between us. The cabin is relatively small so it doesn't take much effort to toss the lipstick back to where my purse rests, landing on top perfectly.

I glance back at Christian, regarding me warily. "These are the boundaries," he almost whispers, apprehension exuding from him. I follow the pale line with my eyes, again fighting the urge to kiss him exactly where I'm not allowed. _Okay, so nowhere on his upper torso. I can live with that. Right? _

"Why don't you like to be touched?" I blurt out quietly. Christian's mouth drops open as if in a silent stutter, like he's at a loss of words.

Finally, he shuts his mouth, reopening it to answer. "The crack whore…," he begins uncertainly. "One of her pimps…," he trails off, staring darkly down at the duvet. "I still remember it…the pain…"

Everything inside of me twist with agony for him. _So that's who did this to him! Holy hell – he's opening up to me! He really is trying!_

I swallow a throat full of unshed tears, deciding to hedge my bets. "Your mother – was she abusive too?"

He shakes his head. "Not that I can remember. Just very neglectful. She never protected me from him." He pauses before hesitantly going on. "She killed herself eventually. It took four days for us to be found. I was left with her…I remember that too."

His guarded eyes finally flicker back up to meet my wide blue ones. "That's so fucked up," I whisper, horrified.

He shrugs. "Fifty shades of it, baby."

I remember what he said this morning. "Is that what your nightmares are about?" My voice sounds so tiny. Christian frowns. "Always hungry for information, Miss Steele," he mutters but answers my question anyway. "Yes. They're mostly flashbacks, I think. Some more vivid than others."

Christian glances up at me, and his eyes darken. "Stop biting your lip," he murmurs with such heat in his voice that I blush as I release my lip from my teeth.

"Thank you," I whisper. When he gives me a quizzical look, I elaborate. "For talking to me."

Christian's face softens, an almost sad expression crossing his features. "Anything for you, Anastasia. I told you I would try. And I meant it."

"I know you are." I decide that that's enough prying right now. Baby steps. I go for a subject change. "So," I say, voice brighter. "How about we put this pretty pink roadmap to use?"

Christian straightens, his shoulders widening. He holds his arms out to the side a little ways. "All yours."

The two little words make the corners of my lips lift, and I scoot closer. Excitement makes the disquiet from our conversation officially vanish. Hesitantly, I bring one of my hands up toward Christian's bare arm. My fingers make contact with the warm skin of the middle of his forearm. Slowly, as to enjoy the sensation, I make the trek upward, letting my fingertips glide easily over his bicep and over the strong top of his shoulder. When my fingers get right to the pink boundary line, I halt my tracings and lift my hand. My eyes move from the line, locking with Christian's wide, luminous gray ones. Changing hands, I reach for his other arm to repeat the process, but before my fingers make contact, he stops me.

His hands meets mine, wrapping around my fingers. "Here," he says, suddenly shifting. He moves and turns, then lies back with his knees bent. With my hand still in his, he urges me toward him, holding out his other hand. After a beat, I get what he's doing, and I let him guide me, moving one leg to the other side of him until I'm straddling him. And suddenly, my heart speeds up simply from the sight of having Christian Grey underneath me.

I settle down, sitting on him as he releases my hands. "Continue," he says quietly. I blink down at him, then return my attention back to his arm, reaching out again. I repeat the process with his other arm.

Christian's eyes never leave my face, though mine stay on my fingers as they move. Instead of looking back to him this time, my eyes move automatically to the next boundary line, on his stomach.

Beneath the rosy line, rests a wide, smooth patch of skin stretched over the subtle dips of his toned muscles, all leading to that fine little V that dips below his waistband. I inch back on my knees until I'm straddling the top of his legs, leaving me plenty of room to explore.

This time I don't hesitate to bring my finger up the inviting sight of bare skin. But when my fingers touch just above his navel, I see Christian wince out of my periphery. Immediately my fingers life from his stomach and my eyes raise to his. He shakes his head at me.

"It's okay," he reassures me. "Go ahead."  
I study the little frown lines creasing his forehead and lips. "Are you sure? I don't have to." _But I really really want to. _

"Yes. I'm fine. It's just I haven't been touched like this in a very long time."

The feeling of excitement sours. "Mrs. Robinson?" The name just pops out before I can stop it. Christian's frown deepens, but he nods. I feel my teeth clamp together, my expression hardening automatically just with the thought of the horrid woman anywhere near Christian, much less touching him.

"Stop it," Christian suddenly whispers, making me look back to him, surprised. His hand reaches up and he uses his fingertips to brush over my cheek. "Don't get upset. It was a long time ago. Besides, she never touched me like this." _God, it's like he can read my mind sometimes. _

"What do you mean 'like this'?"

"Gentle. Sweet."

I give him an almost shy look. "Loving?" I suggest.

His eyes soften, and he nods. "It's not something I've ever experienced. It's just very…different."

Keeping my eyes on his, I let my fingers return to his abs, brushing very softly across. This time, there's only a slight twitch in his facial muscles. "Good different, or bad different?"

"Good. Don't worry. Keep going."

I drop my eyes back down to my little treasure map. Now, I bring up both hands, caressing my fingertips in opposite directions. Lifting them, I start from the line and go down. Christian's breathing changes just noticeably, and when I sneak a peek back up, he's watching me, eyes wide with…surprise? A little bit of wonder, maybe? I'm not sure, but I see no distress so I merely continue.

Underneath my wander fingers, I feel the hardness of well-maintained muscles, and I know that even if I pushed my fingers down that I would find no give, only solidity. I trace over the soft little ripples of his abdomen, feeling the curve of every muscle. Suddenly, I can't resist the overwhelming urge to feel the sensation beneath my lips. So, my hands plant on either side of Christian's hips and I lean forward. My hair falls over my shoulders and hits his skin first, followed by my mouth as I kiss just above his navel.

Moving down, I do it again. His breathing changes some more, coming faster. And when I lift my lips, I see movement below my chin, and I watch as Christian's erection grows in his jeans. My lips part, and I gape. Immediately my heart starts hammering, and heat shoots through my veins and collects between my legs.

My eyes dart up to find Christian staring at me with the same heat that I can feel, his eyes a scintillating gray fire. Just one look – that's all it takes from him – and I'm suddenly just as turned on as he is. My inner goddess immediately slinks out from her den of sin, more than ready for this. But I'm not quite done exploring my new free-zones, so I contain my desire and turn my attention back to his skin.

I lower my mouth once more, planting another kiss right over one of the little ripples of muscles, loving the way it flexes beneath my lips. I trail my parted mouth over to the right, doing it again, listening and watching as Christian's breathing becomes ragged, matching my own.

With one more kiss, I peek up through my lashes back at his face. His eyes are closed, chin tilted toward the ceiling. My eyes lock onto his flawless lips, parted with his uneven breathing, looking beyond sexy and oh so kissable. The sight makes me all but forget my own name, as suddenly, all I care about is getting my lips on those. I move up, shifting on my knees and bringing us face to face. My mouth melds to his perfectly, the feeling so familiar and so very very fantastic. It's a wonder I made it all this time without it.

Christian responds immediately, his mouth coming to life under mine, kissing me back with sudden fervor. His hands move to my hips, holding onto me like his life depends on it.

Abruptly, Christian sits up, taking me with him. I can feel him hot and hard beneath me, making me so very slick between my legs. I want him. That's all I can think about as I feel his hands trail up from hips, slipping underneath my shirt. They continue until I'm raising my arms up as he pulls it up over my head, tossing it somewhere across the room. His lips meet mine again, our tongues clashing as I hug him to me. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, panting. "You're mine," he says fiercely, eyes intense.

I nod vigorously. "Say it." His voice is more of a plea than a command.

I plant a very soft kiss of his lips. "I'm yours. All yours." I whisper. And I've never been more certain of that fact until this moment. Christian groans low in his throat, catching my lips with his once more. His hands move to grip my sides, suddenly lifting me from his lap and maneuvering the both of us around. With our mouths still moving together, he pushes me back onto the bed so he's hovering above me.

"What do you want, Anastasia?" he murmurs around my lips.

"You," I gasp, desperate.

He moves his lips from mine, trailing them down my jaw then onto my neck. "Tell me what you want me to do."

"Make love to me." My voice is too high, impatient, my heart thrumming in my ears. _Ugh, it's been too long! _Christian kisses my collarbone. "Gladly," he whispers, his hand sneaking underneath my back where he dexterously unclasps my bra. He deftly slides it down my arms, tossing it to the floor. My nipples harden and lengthen now that they're exposed. Christian ducks back down, taking one in his warm mouth, suckling gently. A moan escapes me as my back automatically arches, pleasure shooting through me as my core tightens, clenching and drenching me further. I can feel his erection through both of our jeans, pushing into me, driving me crazy with the too-thick denim barriers. Christian continues sucking while his hand moves to my opposite breast, teasing my other nipple with his thumb.

"Please, Christian," I gasp, tugging his hair. He removes his mouth, kissing the peak of my breast. His lips keep moving leisurely down onto my rib cage, but his hands move to the front of my jeans, unsnapping them with a move of his fingers. He sits up, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of both my jeans and panties. Keeping his eyes trained on mine, he pulls the remaining of my clothes away with one long tug. Now, I'm completely naked, practically panting. Waiting. Wanting – him.

My jeans hit the floor and I can practically feel the searing burn of his gray eyes roaming over me. "God, Ana. You are so beautiful." In the next second, he's maneuvering out of his jeans with practiced ease. My greedy eyes take him in, in his full glory. _And he says _I'm _the beautiful one…_

Slowly, he lowers back to me, bringing us skin to skin, nothing between us now. He kisses along my shoulder. "I saw the birth control in your bag. Are you still taking it?" he murmurs with his kisses, his hand wandering over my hip. I'm startled by the question, but manage to answer with a breathy, "Yes." And I never thought I would be so grateful for that fact.

"Good." His hand moves past my hip, lowering onto my leg, caressing my over-sensitized skin with his fingertips. His palm curves around my knee, using it to hitch my leg around his hip. Desire pools low in my belly, causing a deep ache. My hand in his hair pulls impatiently.

"Christian. _Please._" I'm almost begging. Not that I care. I can already feel him pressing into me, and my pelvis tilts, trying to find some friction. Christian lifts his face, hovering over me, one hand still gripping my thigh that's curved around him.

His bright eyes burn intensely down at me as he positions himself. He lowers his lips to mine, kissing me gently and pushing into me. I moan into his mouth, my body arching up into his. He sinks in slowly, my body drawing him deeper and deeper, hungry for his presence.

He fills me completely, then stills. "Oh, baby," he whispers against my lips. And still moving slowly, he eases back out, pausing before he pushes in once again. I moan, tilting my head back. The feeling is exquisite, so full. So complete. Like two puzzle pieces going together flawlessly. Hard and soft, the perfect combination.

I grip him to me as he moves again, reveling in our final act of repairing what was broken. Even though things have been put back together, this…_this _is the glue that cements it, holds us together. Because no matter how many problems Christian and I may have, this is the one thing that obliterates them, makes them disappear. For here, making love with Christian, there are no such things as secrets or hard limits. There's only him and me, getting lost in each other as only we can.

Christian continues to move gently and slowly, having found a rhythm. He's never gone this slow before. Not even close. My hips lift toward his, my instincts just desperate to find release.

"Faster, Christian," I gasp against his shoulder. He kisses right under my ear, filling me again, slowly and gently.

"Oh no," he disagrees. "I want this slow. And for as long as possible, baby." His lips suddenly meet mine, kissing me ardently as he moves, cherishing me with every push and pull.

"I love you," I whisper around his kisses. He groans with my words, suddenly thrusting into me sharply, making me cry out.

The only sound in the completely tranquil boat cabin is our breathing and soft moans as we continue to make love, still moving at Christian's unhurried pace. One hand is in my hair, the other cradling my face as he kisses me, my face, my neck, my shoulders.

I have the boundary lines now, and I take advantage of it. My hands wander over every inch they're allowed, his face, his arms, his lower back, and – when I work up enough nerve – his oh so fine backside.

And just as Christian said – it's slow and for as long as possible. But eventually, his steady, controlled rhythm pushes me higher, until my breathing accelerates and my body starts to quiver, building.

I'm already on the edge. "Give it to me, baby. Come for me," Christian breaths against my neck. And just like that, he takes me over. My muscles tighten, squeezing around him as I come, moaning his name rather incoherently. Christian follows suit. "Ana." My name is a benediction falling from his lips as he finds his own release inside of me, stilling.

His weight presses me into the mattress as he lies on top of me, both of us catching our breath and regaining our senses. Christian lifts his head of ruffled copper hair, his eyes full of warmth.

Still inside of me, he kisses me tenderly for a moment. "I love you so much, Ana," he whispers, his voice raw.

My breath catches, a lump forming in my throat as I suddenly fight tears. I pull his lips back to mine. "I love you, too."

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**A/N: FINALLY! A chapter that earns the M rating I put on this story! Lol Hope u girls liked it! Believe me, there's more to come *wink wink* get it? Ahahaha!**

**Btw…We have finally our Grey boys cast! I think Jamie Dornan is much better than Charlie Hunnam but Luke Grime as Elliot is NOT a good choice! Anyways, review plz! **


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: So this chapter and the last two chapters should technically be reversed. But oh well. This was just smoother. And a couple of people have asked me about a Coping Together ball, and I'm sure more of you are wondering. But no, there wont be one. It just doesn't fit anywhere in here logically. But I have something else in mind to replace it! Wait and see!**

**So I'm pretty sure this is my longest chapter yet! But after all the waiting here recently, you guys deserve it! Hope u like it!**

* * *

"Who are you?" I demand.

"I'm nobody," she responds, voice high and shrill. The pale girl tilts her brunette head to the side, her deep brown eyes regarding me with eerie understanding. "And soon," she whispers. "You will be too. You'll be just like the rest of us once he's through with you."

"Or better yet," another voice interrupts, and my head whips around to find the source. But all I find is a tall figure with blond hair, wearing all black. Her features are vague because I've never seen them up close enough to recall them. But I have no trouble recognizing her. Mrs. Robinson. She goes on, a smug smirk on her ruby lips.

"He'll simply get bored with the world of heart and flowers. Then, he'll go back to what he knows – everything I taught him."

"No no no." I shake my head vigorously, the two women becoming hazy and distorted.

"He won't. No. It's not true…"

I look to both women, who have started fading away. "You're both wrong!" I shout at their disappearing figures. Then, I'm left alone…

I gasp, blinking rapidly. In my disorientation, the figures are still in my head as I regain consciousness, one still lingering so that it looks as if someone is standing in front of the bed as my real surroundings come into focus. My hand flies up, rubbing roughly at my eyes, and sure enough – when I look again, the figure is gone for good.

I relax. The first thing I notice is the sensation of being surrounded by warmth, and the feel of Christian's arms being wrapped securely around me, his body curved behind mine. We're still spooning just as we were when we went to bed.

Immediately, every tensely coiled muscle loosens, my heart still pounding as I come down from my nightmare. My pulse starts to slow, but the blood is still hammering in my ears, and I can feel it throbbing in my head, a sharp pain at the front of my skull.

I reach up to massage my temple, wincing as I realize what a killer headache I have. I sigh, now completely wide awake. My eyes have adjusted to the dimness and a glance at the alarm tells me it's just past 3 A.M. I know I'll never get back to sleep with my head hurting like this. So, very gently, I ease Christian's arm up enough so I can slide out from under it, moving in slow-mo so I don't wake him.

Carefully, I place his arm back on the bed, sliding toward the edge. Christian grumbles unintelligibly in his sleep and stirs, but doesn't wake. Moving stealthily, I creep out of the bedroom, leaving the door open as I slide down the hall. I find my way to the kitchen, flipping on the smallest light possible.

I move with the sluggishness of being woken up way too early as I pour a glass of orange juice and swallow some Advil.

I lean against the counter, trying to calm my raging head and the knawing feeling of dismay in the pit of my stomach as a result of such a disturbing dream. I try telling myself that it was just a dream, not real. But that excuse is flimsy at best, because I know it's not true. No, it's very much real. Because that dream is just a nocturnal conjuring of what I fear most.

Though today – or yesterday now – was absolutely fantastic, it still doesn't prove that what I admitted to Christian won't happen. That he won't tire of me and this vanilla routine, that he won't miss his lifestyle of control and dominance. And then where would that leave me? Alone. Just like in my dream. A shudder runs up my spine.

_Give him credit, Steele. _Good ol' Sub chimes in. _He's really trying. He seems to want this as bad as you! What more do you want? _I sigh, knowing there's no argument. These fears have nothing to do with Christian personally, or anything he's doing. He's been perfect today, especially the rest of our afternoon. A small smile involuntarily lifts my lips, just thinking about it, working to banish all my dark thoughts.

Mac returned shortly after our tryst in the cabin, cutting our cutting our time a little short. But that didn't spoil my mood – not after what happened. _He said it! _He really said it, sober and fully aware this time. And totally sincere. Warmth blooms through my chest. _He loves me. _I still feel like I might burst. No more second guessing, no doubts. I really know it now. And I couldn't be happier about it.

We enjoyed the afternoon for all it was worth, using the time to get to know each other. We didn't talk any more about anything deep or painful. No Leila, no "crack whore" as he calls his mother. Just light, trivial things. Favorite colors, movies, food, places, our first concerts, and of course my favorite topic – books. We talked about his time in Harvard, after he told me he dropped out after two years to start his business. That conversation was only partially soured when I asked just the right question, and he related that _Mrs. Lincoln _had been the benefactor for him to do so, being the reason he's now in business with her with salons – hence the one I saw. My morbid curiosity had me wanting to ask more questions about her, but Christian could tell where it was going and changed the subject, and soon, I was so caught up in his rapid fire questions that I had no time to think any more of her. The clever bastard…my smile widens.

But all in all, it was an amazing day. After _The Grace, _we came back here. I had to field two phone calls from Kate going all mother hen, and after dinner, Christian showed me the huge media room. There, we curled up on the large sofa and watched a few of the movies we had talked about earlier as being our favorites. He even fed me strawberries during one…just like my dream in Georgia. Except without the cage of course.

And when we went to bed, Christian shocked the hell out of me by….well, going to _bed. _Literally. After his so sweet, gentle lovemaking this afternoon, he went back to being very hands-off. Well, hands-off for Christian. No touchy feely or come-ons at all. It's so odd, mostly because it gives me a chance to see this side of Christian I haven't experience before…I'm always to busy having him drive me crazy with his sexpertise. But my inner goddess is none too happy with me for not pressing the issue, especially after this long of a dry spell. But deep down, I know that this has been Christian's way of proving to me that he wants me for…well, _me_. And not just for sex anymore. Plus, I'm too busy enjoying the moment to rush anything.

I tip up my glass, draining the rest of the juice and putting it in the sink. My head is already feeling a little better, and my irrational fears are all but gone. I'm just turning, about to return to Christian's bedroom, when a horrendous sound breaks the dead quiet. It's not loud, but it's very clear. Some cry of pain that's enough to turn my stomach. My throat closes. _Christian. _

I'm already almost to the hallway before the sound dissipates, my feet moving frantically. I dart in the doorway, flipping on the bedside light. I immediately see Christian tossing, his face creased with distress.

"No!" he protests, pain saturating his voice. _Shit! A nightmare! _I'm at his side immediately, grabbing his shoulders, and shaking.

"Christian." He lets out another sound like I heard in the kitchen. "Christian! Wake up!" I shake him harder.

Out of nowhere, he bolts upright, his hands closing around my wrists. His eyes pop open, impossibly wide as they flicker insanely around the room, chest heaving. Finally, he looks up at me and seems to grasp where he is.

"Ana," he gasps. His grip around my wrists loosens, and his eyes narrow. "You left. You must've left…" He shakes his head, confused.

"I was in the kitchen, getting a drink." I cradle his head in my hands, feeling the sheen of sweat around his brow, drenching strands of his hair. He's still breathing hard, eyes still freaking out. "Shhh," I whisper, bringing my lips to his damp forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that would happen. I'm right here." He buries his face in my shoulder, holding me with a death grip.

"Oh God, Ana." His breathing slows. I kiss his temple, bringing his face out of hiding. I touch my forehead to his. "I'm not going anywhere," I whisper before kissing him softly. His lips glue to mine in a slightly desperate way, parting and making mine do the same. His tongue traces my bottom lip, seeking entrance which I give him eagerly. My pulse quickens with my breathing as our tongues meet. Christian pulls me closer, one hand moving down to grip me firmly around the ass.

I'm just about to push him back and climb on the bed with him, when we suddenly both feel a cool breeze. Immediately we both pull back, our heads snapping in the direction to the disorienting sensation. At the same time, we both lock eyes on the balcony door, slightly ajar. Not all the way open, but enough to let in the draft. Horror strikes me as Christian glances back at me. _That wasn't open when I woke up._

"You went outside?" he asks breathlessly, his brow creasing. My wide eyes move reluctantly from the door to Christian.

"No, I didn't," I say slowly. Suddenly, the image of a vague figure standing at the foot of the bed flashes across my mind and it clicks, just as I watch the same horrified expression settle of Christian's face.

But neither of us have a chance to move a muscle, because just then, someone is in the doorway. My heart falls as my head whips in that direction, but relief floods through me when I see Taylor. I don't even stop to consider that I'm only wearing Christian's t-shirt and panties for him to see.

But the relief is short lived as I take in the look on his face. Taylor's looking straight at Christian.

"Sir," he says, voice urgent. "We've had a security breach." Christian's on his feet in a flash.

"She was in here," I squeak, and both men are suddenly looking at me. "When I woke up, I thought it was a dream, but I _swear _I saw her standing here." I point to the floor. "And now, the door." My finger moves to the glass door.

Taylor's face is completely dismayed, the most emotion I've ever seen from the man. Christian flits to the other side of the room, grabbing the door. He leans out, looking all around before shutting the door and locking it. He turns around, face hard as stone. I stand there, quaking like a leaf. My knees are wobbly, and my heart is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears.

"Sir." Taylor snaps back into security mode. "You and Miss Steele need to leave the apartment immediately. I have Sawyer and Ryan searching, but we need you clear first."

Christian nods, already moving. "Go. We'll leave in the R8. Call the Olympic and tell them to be expecting us." Taylor disappears and Christian turns back to me, where I stand, silently freaking out that his psycho ex was that close to us both.

His face softens as he looks at me, coming to my side. "Ana," he says gently. "We have to go, baby." He grabs my shoulder softly, urging me forward.

I nod stiffly. "Okay, let me get my bag and change." He shakes his head. "There's no time. Just put your jeans back on. I'll have Taylor bring our stuff later."

He points to where the jeans I wore today are resting. Finally, I spur myself into motion, fumbling until I find the right holes and stuffing my bare legs into them. It's a job getting my shaky fingers to snap them, but I finally manage it before diving for my shoes. By then, Christian is coming out of the closet, wearing a pair of tennis shoes and carrying two hoodies. He slides one on over his t-shirt before coming to me, holding it out so I can put my arms in the sleeves. It swallows me, but his shirt I wore to bed is already doing just that anyway. Besides, it covers my very obvious no-bra state.

Christian sweeps up his Blackberry and wallet, then is sweeping me out of the room. We hurry toward the elevator. Taylor's already waiting. He hands Christian his keys.

"I called the Olympic." He reaches into his pocket and hands Christian a card. "It's under my name."

"Good thinking," Christian mutters, taking the credit card.

"Don't worry about anything here. We'll find her, Sir." Christian clenches his jaw but doesn't say anything. Taylor starts to walk away, but I grab his arm, fear suddenly gripping me as I realize that Christian isn't the only person I should be worrying about.

Taylor stops, surprised. "Be careful, okay?" I say, voice too high with alarm. _She might have a gun…Oh God, I can't take this._

Taylor's eyes soften, and he puts his hand over mine on his arm. "Don't you worry about me, Miss Steele." He gives me an almost paternal look of reassurance. "I'll take care of things here. Just let Mr. Grey get both of you out of here first."

My hand slips from his arm, and I nod, still worried though. I turn back around, and Christian nods at Taylor, and pulls me toward the elevator. As soon as the door closes, I relax immediately, but when I look up at Christian, he's frowning subtly at me.

"What?"

"You seem very fond of Taylor," he observes.

"Yeah…" I shrug. His frown deepens, and I get what he's thinking. _Oh you paranoid Fifty! Seriously? Jealous of Taylor? Sheesh._

"Oh stop it," I grumble good naturedly, giving his arm a push. "It's _so _not like that. Taylor seems to take good care of you is all. That's why I like him."

"Take care of me?" His eyebrows raise, and I nod. He moves his face forward. "I can take care of myself." His lip settles into an unhappy pout, like I've just told him of some unknown weakness. My eyes settle on his lips. _Whoa. Christian pouting…why does that look so hot?_

A blush creeps across my face. "Stop it. You know what I mean," I mutter, trying not to attack his lips with mine. The elevator door opens, and Christian tugs me out into the garage. I can't help my eyes scanning around, paranoid. _Where is she? And what does she want? _

Christian leads me to the impressive R8. The A3 is still out here, tires slashed and paint thrown all over it, and I try desperately to ignore it. He helps me inside, his own eyes moving around the garage, before getting in the driver's side. He cranks the engine, and whips the car out quickly. When we're safely on the road, he relaxes visibly, reaching across the console to take my hand.

His thumb strokes across my hand. "I'm sorry about this." His voice burns with sincerity.

I look at him, surprised. "It's not your fault."

He frowns. "Yes is it." For some reason, his tone makes me think he's talking about more than just her being in the apartment. But I let it go.

"Do you know how she might have gotten in?" I ask tentatively.

He sighs, shaking his head. "No. It's not like she can just come through the elevator. I change codes every time–" He stops himself, glancing at me quickly.

"Every time you get a new submissive," I finish for him. He frowns, nodding. I go quiet for a moment, and the silence feels charged somehow. I pick at the hem of the t-shirt I'm wearing. Finally I go for a change of subject.

"Thank God it's the middle of the night," I say. "Otherwise, I'd be turning way too many heads in this get-up." I see Christian smirk and glance at my clothes.

"I'm dressed the same," he points out. I snort.

"Yeah but you're you. You can pull off anything. Besides, you just look sporty casual. But I'm…"

"Boyfriend chic," he finishes. I laugh out loud. God, it feels good to laugh after such a scare. Christian flashes a beautiful smile. He slows for a red lights, and turns to me, putting his hand on my knee.

"Hey," he says, serious again. "I really _am _sorry for this, baby. I have no idea how she got in. But I'm going to take care of this. I'm going to take care of _you. _I promise."

I put my hand over his, touched by his remorse for something that isn't even his fault. "I know," I whisper. The light turns green, and we start off again.

The rest of the ride is made in comfortable silence. But we finally arrive at the hotel. After the valet takes the car, Christian leads me inside the imposing building, and I gulp, going red. It's even fancier than the Heathman in Portland. I pull nervously at the jacket on my shoulders as I fall into step behind Christian. He walks straight to the front desk.

The woman behind the counter is so busy fluttering her eyes as she sees Christian, that she doesn't even look at me. "N-name?" she stutters.

"Taylor." He hands her the card.

"Do you…need help with any bags, Mr. Taylor?" _Sheesh, she's tomato red! _But I can't say I blame her.

"No, Mrs. Taylor and I are fine on our own." He looks to me, eyes dancing as I start with the false title. _Mrs! _I move my left hand out of sight, acutely aware that there is no ring. Christian's is safely hidden in mine so no one can see.

"Eleventh floor. You're in the Cascade Suite," she tells him, giving me a sour look. I return it smugly. _Yep, honey. He's mine!_

Just as the lobby, the hotel suit is just as posh and swank as the Heathman was when I saw it. Even though that feels like forever ago now.

Christian passes the luxurious living room area, going straight for the bedroom. Inside, he works the hoodie off his shoulders, as I do the same and kick off my shoes. Putting his phone on the dresser, he sits heavily on the edge of the bed, sighing and bracing his hands on his knees.

My heart squeezes. I already know Christian puts more stress on himself than necessary, so I can't imagine what this is doing to him. I go over to him, putting my hand lightly on his shoulder. He looks up at me, the weariness finally starting to show through.

"Are you okay?" I whisper.

"Not really," he admits, truthfully. His eyes seem to burn. "Ana, if anything ever happened to you because of me…" His voice catches in his throat, face anguished.

"Nothing's going to happen. To _either _of us," I reassure him. I stroke his hairline, some strands stiff with dried sweat – which reminds of his nightmare just before we left.

"Ready to go back to bed?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "Not yet. C'mon."

Fifteen minutes later, the huge tub in the bathroom is filled up with warm water. After stripping him, I made him get in. I've kept my panties and t-shirt on, and am sitting on the edge behind him, pouring water over his shoulders. The pink lipstick is still intact though.

I'm the first to break our long silence. "You had another nightmare," I state quietly.

"Yes," he says simply.

I pause. Then, "Wanna talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about?" His voice is guarded, wary.

"Well," I hedge, pouring more water over him. "You said they'd gotten worse. What'd you mean by that?"

He doesn't answer me at first. And just when I'm thinking he isn't going to say anything, he does. "The old ones have just gotten more vivid. More real. But there's new ones." He's reluctant. Which just makes me more curious.

"Are they about your childhood too?" I keep my voice calming, almost casual.

"No." Another long pause. "They're about you." His voice is bare audible. I don't stop the rhythm I have going with the water, but inside, I'm churning. _He's having nightmares about me? Jeez. What a kick to the gut. _

When I don't say anything, Christian goes on. "It's not what you think." _God, how does he do that? _

"Oh?"

"They're about you leaving me." My hands halt from cupping and pouring water. Guilt crashes over me. My legs are already in the water on either side of him, and I move them until they're wrapped around him. I move my face beside his.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't know what else to do at the time." Christian's face moves to look at me.

"Oh no," he says suddenly. "That's not why I said that. Don't be sorry, Ana. What you did…having the strength to walk away. It's the best thing you ever could have done for us. For me."

I stare at him, perplexed. He goes on. "I told you, baby. You leaving changed my whole world view. And that would have never happened had you just stayed. In fact, I probably would've ended up destroying any chance we had."

I nod. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

I draw in a deep breath. "That first day I ran into you…" I start. "After you sent me the necklace. You were with Mrs. Robinson…"

"Yes?"

"Have you been telling her everything that's been going on?" I already know the answer to this question, but I still want to hear him say it.

"Mostly, yes." I knew it, but it still causes a spike of anger. But I hide it as I go on.

"Has she been telling you what to do? Ya know, like she did when you came to Georgia?"

He hesitates. "Yes," he says reluctantly. "At first." _I knew it! I so fucking knew it!_

I fall silent, chewing on the bit of disturbing information. Christian turns to me. "Where are you going with this?"

I shake my head at him, and instead of answering, I ask another question. "You said a while back that she…loved you in a way you found acceptable. What did you mean by that?" I swallow the bile in my throat getting the words out. But I'd really like to know. Find out why Christian fell so easily into this lifestyle…and therefore, what it'll take to get him back out.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asks.

"Not to me."

Christian sighs, sitting up suddenly. He turns in the water, spinning all the way around until he's facing me. He scoots up closer, looking at me. "Ana, I was completely out of control when I was a teenager. As a fourteen, fifteen year old boy with hormones raging yet not being able to be touched. It was hell. I was getting into fights all the time, trying to find some physical contact I could stand. By the time Elena came along, she was just what I needed. She gave me a way to let go of all of the shit I had going on."

I really wish he hadn't turned around, because now I can't hide my face. So I have to work to keep the pure, unadulterated disgust under wraps. Because it'll just lead to an argument about his totally fucked up view of that woman, and what she _really _did – which is take advantage of a kid who was hurting. And twisted him even more. I glance away, keeping my face impassive as I suddenly busy my fingers with arranging the towel I set close to the tub.

"What made it end?" I keep nonchalant, face bland.

"Her husband found out."

I balk, all impassiveness gone. "She was with you while she was married?" I can't hide the horror in my voice. He nods..

"So why aren't you with her now?"

He huffs, running a wet hand through his hair. "Because," he stresses, exuding exasperation. "I told you – all that is over between us. Has been for a long time." I can tell he's getting irritated, and I don't want to push him too far. He's given me so much in the last 24 hours already. So I fall quiet, letting the subject go…for now anyway.

He's the first to speak. "So…what about Kavanaugh?" My eyes flash to his face, instantly cautious. Crap…I really hope he's not looking for a fight. Cause knowing Fifty, that's the best way to start one.

"What about Ethan?"

"What happened with him? There was obviously something there."

I frown. But because of the discussion of Elena and his brusque brush-off, I don't feel so bad as I normally would by saying, "Yeah, there was." I do work to put the emphasis on the past tense…_was. _

His face hardens. "You're attracted to him?"

Again, I just go with the truth. "I thought so there for a minute."

"And now?" His voice is tense.

I shake my head, reassuring him. "Not like that. We're much better as friends."

"You said you let him sleep with you." He swallows hard. "Did you kiss him?"

I look down at my hands in my lap, my cheeks turning red. I _so _don't wanna talk about this. "A few times." I doubt my voice could get any smaller. Christian doesn't say anything and I keep my eyes down. When I do finally peek up at him, he's staring at me with a frown over every inch of his face.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. That's only half-true. To be honest, I don't regret what happened with Ethan. It gave me the chance to be 100% sure about my decision to return to Christian. Instead, I would still be asking what if.

He shakes his head. "Me too," he sighs. "But it is over?"

I nod. "Yes." I shift awkwardly, and I wonder vaguely if this is how he feels when I ask about Mrs. Robinson. My eyes trace the fading pink line on Christian, suddenly using it as a diversion. "I think you might wanna get the lipstick off. That stuff will eventually smear all over." I gesture to his chest, and Christian glances down at himself. He looks back to me, almost speculative for a moment.

Finally, he reaches for the small, hotel sized bottle of shower gel and offers it to me.

"Here," he says. I take it, uncertain. He scoots a little closer. "You do it." I blink, surprised. _He's asking me to touch him! Just at the line, but still! _Slowly, I nod, knowing what he's asking me to do is a big deal to him.

I snap open the little bottle, putting a little in my fingers, lathering. Ready, I reach for his shoulder where the closest line is. I touch it, and he tenses.

"Don't stray from the line, please." His voice is low, rough. Gently, I use my finger tips to start erasing the line. When I'm done with this side, I move to the other repeating. Christian's breathing accelerates, his frame rigid and stressed. My heart breaks as I keep going, knowing that just the idea of me touching him causes him such fear. It breaks for the boy he was when such a horrid thing was done to him. And most of all, it breaks for the man who still hurts to this day because of it.

A line of tears streak my cheeks before I even know I'm crying. Christian realizes it at the same time.

"No, baby. Please." He grabs my face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "Don't cry. Please, baby, don't cry."

I sniffle as he presses a soft kiss on my lips. "I want more than anything for you to touch me. I really do. But I just…I just can't. I'm sorry."

"No, no." I shake my head, getting a hold of myself. "I get it. I don't want to push you. I can live with boundaries for now."

His expression is sad as he drops his hands, and I dry my tears. "It's been a long day. Let's head for bed." Letting the tub drain, we both get out. I dry my feet and legs before turning back to him.

Christian has wrapped the towel around his waist, and is using a smaller one to dry off with. I suddenly get an idea. I reach for the towel.

"Here. Let me." He gives me the towel, a little uncertain. I stick to the boundaries, drying first his arms then, his lower back and abdomen. When I stop, Christian interjects. "All of me. With the towel." I nod seriously, quickly finishing the job. The whole time, Christian's eyes never leave my face.

"There. Done," I say, putting the towel on the counter. Christian's eyes are wide, his face so much more vulnerable than I'm used to seeing.

His head moves from side to side, looking like an unconscious movement of disbelief. "I love you, Ana," he breathes. "I need you so much."

My heart leaps from within my chest. This is the first time he's said it since the boat. "I love you, too." I step toward him, bringing his face down so I can kiss him. His lips devour mine hungrily, igniting a fire out of nowhere.

"Christian," I whisper when I pull back. "Make love to me." My love for this man is so all-consuming, so out of control that this is the only thing I can think of doing, to channel it to him. To make him feel as loved as he deserves.

His lips return to mine with new fervor. My hands move into his hair as his trial south, down to the back of my thighs. He grabs each one, bending and picking me up until my legs are wrapped securely around him, my arms around his neck. He doesn't stop kissing me, our tongue now warring with each other. I don't even realize he's moved into the bedroom until he lays me gently onto the bed, his hand cradling the back of my head while the other is caressing up my leg.

Desire heats my body, inside and out. My heart quickening, the blood licking like fire through my veins, and my skin flushing. All in craving for him. His touch. His lips. Everything. Everywhere. My muscles tighten, already ready for him.

Suddenly Christian's lips leave mine, and he pulls me us until I'm sitting. With one quick move, he removes the t-shirt I'm wearing, throwing it. His hand closes around my breast, kneading it as he lays me back down. I moan softly when he pinches my nipple with his thumb and forefinger, causing the sweetest little sting that travels right to my groin. Everything clenches sharply in my belly, so turned on and lost in desire.

Christian's lips travel down my neck, placing soft, wet kisses as he moves south, going torturously slow. Finally, his lips reach my other nipple. He kisses it gently for a moment, making it harden and elongate before he closes his mouth around it, sucking hard. My head tilts back and my eyes slide close. I moan again. Then gasp when he nips me there with his teeth.

He moves his mouth down, trailing over my stomach, leaving more kisses in his wake. When he gets to my belly button, he stops, sliding down to my knee and starting again there, going up. Excitement courses through me, knowing what he's going to do. And the anticipation is so delicious. His mouth gets higher and higher, until he reaches the very inside of my thigh, so close that I can feel his breath through my soaked panties. But he stops, merely going to the next leg to repeat it.

I whimper in protest. "Christian. Please." My hands fist around the bedspread. I feel him smile against my leg.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs. But he halts, moving up. He lowers his face, kissing my hip. Then, with eyes firmly locked on mine, he opens his mouth, his teeth grazing my skin before they catch the waist of my panties. His bites down, and uses only his teeth to work my panties down, lifting my hips with his hands. He pulls them all the way to my feet before flinging them elsewhere.

My mouth is hanging open, panting as I watch him. His hands skim back up my legs, moving them wide apart as he settles between them. He kisses my thigh again as I suddenly feel two fingers sliding in me, gliding easily because I'm so drenched.

I gasp, my pelvis tilting to meet them. "Christ, Ana," he says against my leg. "You're so ready." He moves his fingers in and out a couple of time, just enough to tease me before removing them. He sticks them both in his mouth, his gray eyes smoldering in the dim light.

"Hmm," he hums, licking my arousal off his fingers. "I think I need a better taste of that." I moan long and loud as he sticks his tongue out, licking me. His warm mouth works over my most sensitive area with gentle precision. He laves at my slick folds, making me squirm and gasp for air.

Everything tenses as I feel my climax already building, ready to go over the edge any second. Then, with one last good lick, Christian very knowingly closes his lips around my throbbing clit. And I'm gone. I come apart at the seams, my back arched high off the mattress and a moan leaving my throat.

I'm just beginning to come back down from the high when Christian moves over me, and without warning, pushes into me, making me snap back to reality. He fills me, settling down over me, his elbows on either side of my face. He kisses me tenderly, withdrawing. "I love you," he whispers, pushing all the way in again.

"Oh God, I love you too," I gasp. Christian closes his eyes as if pained to hear those words. I wrap my legs around his hips, bringing him deliciously deeper as he find a rhythm. Again, slow and steady and gentle. Loving. And I don't protest this time at all. Instead, I grasp his arms, burying my face into his shoulder as I let him take me at his pace, his way.

He pauses briefly, circling his hips. "What you make me feel," he says breathlessly. "I'll never get enough of you, Ana. Never." Tears streak down my face as I bite into his shoulder – not hard, just enough to stop a sob.

He begins to move again, and I continue to cry as he loves me with his body– cry because it's too much to contain. What _he _makes _me _feel. It's as if it's going to rip me apart by the shear magnitude. It's so much all at once. It's unbearable, yet I feel as if I can't live without it. Without him.

Christian moves, bringing his face to mine again. He wordlessly uses his lips to brush at my stray tears. Which just produces more. But he never stops, just keeps pushing me higher until I'm there again. My legs tighten around him, and my hands grip his arms harder as my body hits the pinnacle.

Christian kisses me. "Come with me, baby," he whispers. My body, prisoner to him, obeys with no say so from me. I explode into a million little piece, coming hard around him, crying his name and gasping as if I can't breathe.

My release triggers his, and he stills, coming with a quiet groan. He touches his forehead to mine while we catch our breath before sliding out of me. Gently, he works the covers back, maneuvering us under them.

Neither of us bother putting clothes back on, so when he holds me to him, it's skin on skin, as close as we can get. His fingers trail up and down my back while I listen with my head over his chest to his heartbeat slowing and evening out, a strong reassuring thump beneath my ear. I resist the urge to nuzzle, knowing my face is right on the no-go zone.

"Don't ever leave me again," he says suddenly, his voice anguished.

My eyes dart to his, and I bring my hand up, using it to trace the worry lines of his brow. "I won't," I vow. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. No matter what happens." I give him a pointed look. "No matter what you tell me."

That mollifies him somewhat. He hugs me closer, adding, "You're mine. Only mine."

I nod. "All yours."

He seems to relax, his fears reassured. After a minute, I look back to him. "You're mine too, you know." My voice is matter-of-fact, as if this is just me letting him know that.

He smiles, a heart-breakingly beautiful grin. "Yes." He nods. "I'm yours. Always."

Joy and satisfaction bloom through my body. I hug him close with my arm across his stomach, closing my eyes.

"I love you, Christian."

"And I you, Anastasia," is the last thing I hear before being pulled under by sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Hope u liked it! I'm trying to get more done, but the LED laser treatments I just started require that I don't touch electronics afterward (up to 25 hours straight) so u can imagine how this cuts into my writing time! But I'll try to have the next update posted soon! Ana and Christian have a lot to come! This story ain't near finished yet! **


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Finally! I am so sorry about this long as hell wait! Life has been horribly crazy, leaving me with ZERO time to write! But i finally have enough to post! It's a double, and i know they're not very long, but it's the best i can do for now! Hope this is at least halfway good enough!**

* * *

The next morning, I blink awake, a soft hazy light coming from the other side of the room. Shifting, I lift my face, my sleepy eyes focusing on Christian's gray ones. He's already awake, propped up on his elbow and watching me. I smile shyly at him, stretching, thankful that the luxurious white sheet is covering me. For some reason, I feel so self-conscious under his gaze.

Christian grins at me, bringing his fingers up and brushing them softly down my cheek, causing the blood to rise there.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs. "Sweet dreams?"

"Good morning," I yawn. "And I don't remember. Why? Did I say anything?"

"I've only been awake a few minutes, so I don't know." He scoots closer under the rumpled sheet closer to me. His arms slide around me, his personal scent coming off him and making my mouth water.

"Hmm," I hum, snuggling closer to him. "I've missed waking up to you, Mr. Taylor."

He chuckles, kissing my forehead. "I have too, Mrs. Taylor."

"What time is it?" I murmur into his neck.

"Time for us to get up."

"Can't we just lay here all day?" I grumble. His fingers sweep some hair back from my face.

"As much as I would love to do that," he says. "We have somewhere to be." _That _manages to get my attention. I crack my eyes back open, looking at him curiously.

"Oh really? And where is that?"

He smirks. "Not a chance. It's a surprise." I roll my eyes, and his smirk gets bigger. "First thing in the morning, and you're already making my palm twitch." I can tell by the tone of his voice that he's just teasing, not actually threatening, but the words still make my heart pick up.

"Well," I say, rolling onto my back. "I guess I'll just have to keep it up, and then we can really make today interesting." My tone mirrors his, so I'm surprised when I glance back, to see him looking at me with real consternation.

"What?" I ask. He blinks, shaking his head. "Let's save talk like that for a few days okay?"

I roll onto my side, propping my head up onto my elbow, confused by the sudden discomfort I see from him. "Why?"

He sighs, running his hand down his face. "I'm just not ready to resume anything like that right now."

_Well, that's news. _"I said kinky fuckery was alright." My voice isn't much above a whisper as I say the Christian-coined term.

"Spanking occurs in vanilla relationships too," he reminds me sardonically. "It's not about being kinky. I just…" he stops, gathering his words. "Want to take it slow. Work our way back to the level of trust it takes to do anything like that."

My brow creases. "Is this because I didn't safeword?"

"Not entirely." His lips form an unhappy line, and he sighs again. "This is all a bit heavy for this time of the morning. But I will tell you this – your behind is safe for a little while." He gives me a rueful little smile, which I can't help but return. I can tell the subject has been officially been dropped, but the bit of knowledge is still turning around in my head as I stretch and yawn again. "So what's this surprise?"

"Nah ah, Miss Steele," he chides. "You'll just have to find out."

"I hate surprises," I grumble as I sit up, keeping the sheet around me. He smirks at me, sitting up as well.

"Taylor will be here soon with some more clothes. Do you want to shower now or after we get back to Escala?" The mention of the apartment reminds me of the harsh reality that drove us to this hotel room in the first place.

"We're going back so soon? Did they find her?" Christian's jaw clenches, and his mouth turns down. I already know the answer before he says it. "No."

"But they were able to determine she got in through the fire escape. The locks are being changed now, so it'll be safe again by the time we're done."

"Wait," I say, a little confused by his knowledge. "How do you know this? Did you not sleep?"

"Yes, I did. I just got up once and called to check in. And Taylor text me when I woke up. So – shower now, or later?"

"Now," I decide. "I never got one after sailing. I still feel kinda salty and wind-blown."

He nods. "Alright. I'll go start the water." He slides out of bed, still naked, and heads for the bathroom. I watch his fine ass disappear around the corner, wondering how the hell I got so lucky to be waking up to such a sight. But after another minute of lying around, I follow him, regretfully leaving the warmth of the bed. I resist the urge to find something to put on and cover myself up. Old habits of self-consciousness and modesty are definitely dying hard. But I remind myself that I'm going straight for the shower, and it's just Christian – it's nothing he hasn't seen before. So I scamper into the bathroom.

The water is running, steam already rising from behind the glass door. Christian has already stepped in, standing underneath the spray as I slip inside as well. He steps over, making room for me under the water.

I tilt my head back, letting the water soak it. When I'm sufficiently wet, we rotate, and Christian does the same thing. I stand in front of him, watching as he tips his head back, bringing up his hands to run through his now blackened hair. The movement is small but still showcases his finely curved biceps as he raises his arms. His eyes are closed, face blank and relaxed, as I keep ogling and wondering how the hell such a man came into my life, let alone has just declared his love for me. Talk about a real quantum jump.

Christian runs his hand down his face, his eyes blinking open and finding mine, wide and staring at him. He smiles knowingly, water trickling down his face and over his lips. He brings his hand up to my chin. "I think it's my turn to bite that lip," he murmurs, his words acting like some magic hotline to my groin. Immediately, my teeth release my lip I didn't know I was biting. Christian inclines, shielding my face from the spray as I tilt back, inviting him in.

His wet lips meet mine, the water mingling with our kiss. His tongue traces my bottom lip for a moment before – true to his word – his teeth graze it, closing around it and tugging gently. I have no idea why this simple act seems so hot and erotic but it works like it is. Just one gesture with his lips and Christian already has me hot and feeling needy. Desire strikes sharp and hard. My inner goddess darts out, more than ready to take over this show.

My breath suddenly hitches, and my hands reach out, grabbing his head and weaving into his soaking hair, bringing his lips back to mine. He melts into me, his mouth molding to mine and his arms wrapping securely around me, pulling me flush against him. The wetness of our skin allows for no friction, and the slickness between our bodies just drives me that much more insane with want of him.

Gripping me to him, Christian spins me and uses his body to shove me against the shower wall. My back hits the cold glass with a thud, the temperature at odds with the heat pressed to my front. We're all tongue and teeth, our mouths clashing almost violently. One of his hands glides across my wet skin to my breast, his finger closing around my nipple, pinching so that it hardens and elongates. My hands tug from where they're still tangled in his dripping locks, and I moan into his mouth, the sweet sting traveling right between my legs.

Our tongue continue to stroke each other as I release one hand from his hair, bringing it between us and taking him in my hand and stroking his hard length. Christian groans low in his throat, breaking away from our ferocious kiss and opening his eyes to reveal a pair of wild, tempestuous eyes – the gray of his irises now darkened with heavy lust and desire until they look like clouds of a swirling thunderstorm. The look itself mirrors how I feel, and makes me feel almost powerful with the knowledge that this man wants me as much as I want him. I stroke him again with my hand, and his eyes slide back shut, his lips parting as his jaw slackens.

I want him in my mouth, to taste him after so long and watch the pleasure and arousal on his face. With a new mission, I grab Christian's hips firmly with my hands and turn us, pushing him against the wall this time. His eyes come open with excited surprise as I take a step back and drop to my knees underneath the warm water still cascading over us.

I stroke him once more with my hand before sticking my tongue out, licking his entire length like a popsicle before bringing my mouth around him. Christian moans, the sound bouncing off the surfaces of the shower and reverberating through me, down to my very bones and filling me with a feeling like hedonistic euphoria.

I keep one hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his base where my mouth doesn't reach. I swirl my tongue around him, relishing in the taste that I've been missing for what feel like forever. His hips flex, instinctively trying to get deeper, and one of his hands grips the back of my head. I suck him hard, eliciting another moan before I stop, relaxing my mouth and throat and pushing him in farther until he hits the back of my throat.

With my mouth entirely full, I open my eyes and let them flicker up. His head is bowed, his jaw slack and mouth open as he watches me with such heated eyes that it seems as if he can burn me with them. I fight the urge to blink the water from eyes, keeping mine trained on his as I back out, moving my hand with my mouth. I lick around his tip, hollowing my cheeks and taking him as deep as I can again.

Christian's eyes finally slide closed, cutting off my view of them as his head tips back against the glass. I concentrate on what I'm doing, sucking and licking, the water from the shower running into my mouth in the process. After a minute, I pause and very carefully bare my teeth, dragging them very gently over him as I move down again.

"Stop, Ana," Christian gasps. "I don't want to come this way." His hand tightens in my hair. I hate to give up my fun, but the fact that I've gotten him this close, still gives me a feeling of accomplishment. Even my inner goddess nods in approval. So with one last good lick, I pull my mouth away and release him just in time for Christian's hands to grab my upper arms, pulling me up effortlessly so I'm standing again.

He grabs my face, and kisses me fiercely, passionately. And if it's not love that I feel radiating out of him, then I'm a monkey's uncle. Cause I do feel it. Strong and unwavering, because this is the best way he knows to communicate it. He kisses me just long and hard enough to make my head whirl and my heart race before he grabs my shoulders and spins me around, my back to his front. His arms move around my waist, each finding my breasts. He massages and squeezes each one, and I release a moan, pushing them farther into his adroit hands and letting my head tilt back to rest against his shoulder.

"That's it. Let me hear you, baby," he says, voice low and husky as his tongue traces the shell of my ear. His hands trace further down, feeling like silk on my skin, and I roll my head to the side to give him easier access as he kisses down my shoulder.

He moves us so that his back is no longer against the glass and I'm facing a solid white wall. "Spread your legs." His hands grip my hips, holding me back against him. I widen my stance. "Good. Now bend over, baby." Excitement shoots through me, settling in all the right places as I do as he tells me, taking my time as I bring my face close to the shower floor. One hand leaves my hip and caresses down my backside, loving the skin there. His fingers brush over my swollen sex, officially setting off a dull ache deep in between my legs, an ache only he can take care of.

His thumb slips between my slick folds, massaging over my throbbing clit. Every muscle clenches low in my belly, a delicious contraction that only exacerbates the ache, and I moan just his thumb traces the rim of my sex, drenched with my arousal.

Christian hums low in his throat. "Oh, Ana. Always ready for me." And his thumb sinks into me to his knuckle, curling around and stroking me from the inside.

I moan. "Christian!" And rock back to his finger, wanting more. Instead, he removes it completely, but before I can miss the contact, I feel him guide the tip of his erection right where his finger just was. He pushes just inside me, and his hands on my hips keep me from pushing back onto him. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering, the feeling so tantalizing and teasing.

"Reach out and brace yourself against the wall, baby." He leans over me, one hand moving around my waist to guide me up until I'm parallel to the floor with my hands flat against the wall.

As soon as I'm properly supported, his hand returns to my hip, and suddenly he slams all the way in. My resulting cry is just as much from surprise as it is from the pleasure radiating from the point of our connection. He stills for a moment, his hands gripping me hard. Then, he backs out, making my muscles tighten as they try to keep him there. When he's just barely inside me again, he does it again, entering me swiftly and roughly. Immediately, I see why he had me move my hands, because I pitch forward with the powerful thrust, my arms stopping me from falling on my face. He stops again, circling his hips, taking time to feel me and let me feel all of him before he starts to move.

This time, he doesn't pause as he moves out and back in, and in no time, he has a rhythm. Again and again, he pounds into me, hitting that ache dead on until I don't even feel it anymore. Instead, I already feel my body start to go higher.

"Faster, Christian," I moan. And am rewarded when he obliges, groaning and picking up his relentless pace. The breath whooshes out of me with every thrust, and I use my hands to help me push back, meeting him every time.

With this speed and force, it isn't long at all before my legs tense, Christian bringing me just to the cusp of release. One hand disappears from my hip, and he reaches around and under me. Suddenly, his fingers find their way between my legs to my clit as he keeps moving in and out of me.

Leaning over me, he massages the tight bundle of nerves, making me whimper. Now, nowhere I move will take me away from his torturous pleasure. And trying to absorb it all is what finally sets me off. I moan loudly, every sense just falling away as I come undone.

With one more hard thrust, Christian comes as well with a whispered, "Baby," falling from his lips and his hands tightening on my hips. Well-spent, he pulls out of me, lifting me slowly and pulling me into his arms as the blood flows down from head again. I rest my face against his neck, catching my breath.

His arms hold me close around my shoulders. "My God. I've missed you so much, Anastasia," he whispers, planting a lingering kiss to my temple. When I pull back to look at him, he very sweetly brushes the wet hair away from my face and neck.

"Me too." I loop my arms around his waist, my hands resting on his lower back. "I'll never get enough of you either. I can't imagine ever getting my fill." I reiterate what he said to me last night. Christian blinks, clearly touched by my words before he kisses me.

We enjoy the moment, but when it passes, Christian looks at my fingertips, smirking. "We're pruning up," he notes. "Let's finish showering so we can eat and get out of here." His words remind me of his surprise, and makes me anxious to see what it is.

Though my excitement has me wanting to rush, Christian takes his time finishing our shower, lathering me up with body wash. His movements are sweet and caring as he works his way down, cleaning me as he goes. The intimacy of the action makes me smile, but it's a bittersweet feeling because I know he wouldn't let me return the favor even if I asked. And that fact – that he's still afraid to give me the privilege of being close to him – twinges the happiness with an ever-present sadness.

He's kneeling in front of me, moving his hands in circles over my tummy and lower back. I stroke his wet hair with my hand, and he glances up at me.

"What?" he asks, responding to whatever expression he sees. I shake my head lightly, smiling softly as I try to hide the pain of what I was just thinking of. "So you can be gentle." I stroke his face, and his hands – the soft touch that proves my statement – pause on either side of my waist.

He kisses my hip that has no soap yet. "I'm anything you want me to be, baby."

"There's only one thing I want you to be."

He raises a brow, resuming his washing. "What's that?"

"Mine. Just mine." I brush some hair off of his forehead, and he gives me a blindingly bright smile that makes my chest hurt from the beauty of it.

"Good. Because that's what I'll always be. As long as you let me."

"Forever." I can't tell if my voice is a promise or a warning to him – that I'll want him that long. But either way, he smiles again.

"Forever," he repeats, making me so happy I think I might float away.


	42. Chapter 42

"Are we almost there?" I ask rather impatiently. But my grumpiness only makes Christian grin.

"Yes, we're almost there." His voice is saturated in amusement. Our hands are linked, resting between us on the seat, and he brings mine up to his lips, brushing a soft kiss on the back of it. "Stop biting your lip, Miss Steele. Or else we'll never get there."

My teeth immediately release my bottom lip, and my eyes flash nervously to the front where Taylor is driving. Christian had another security guy – Sawyer – pick up the R8 and take it back to Escala, so we're riding in the back of the SUV with Taylor. Whether that choice was due to safety issues because of Leila, I'm not sure. Honestly, I was too afraid to ask such a question. We haven't mentioned her since first thing this morning, and Christian is in an uncharacteristically good mood. And the last thing I want to do is put a damper on it. I'd rather just stay curious if it means living in our little blissful, carefree bubble a little longer.

So I bite my tongue to curb both my curiosity and impatience, and merely concentrate to Christian's hand in mine while we make the rest of the drive. "We're here." Christian's quiet announcement makes me realize that Taylor has slowed the SUV and is now turning in somewhere. I lean up, peering out of the dark tinted window to spy our destination.

Immediately, my eyebrows pull together and my eyes snap back to Christian's. "A Saab dealership?" Bless his heart, he actually shifts in his seat uncomfortably, actually turning a little pink. _Oh my, he's blushing! _My inner goddess swoons. His eyes finally meet mine with a determined light in them.

"I think I owe you a proper graduation present," he says, and I can tell he's being totally sincere.

"Christian, you don't owe me anything," I reprove lightly. "I really don't want another car, period."

The determined light gets a little brighter. "Well, you're getting one, Anastasia." His tone is firm but not rudely demanding. Yet.

_Don't burst the bubble. Don't burst the bubble. _I sigh, glancing back the huge silver-lettered sign. "A Saab?"

This makes him smile. "It's one of the safest."

"You know the A3 would have been fine. I just used it to snap at you because I was irritated yesterday."

He shrugs. "All the same – it was a good point. Now, come." Taylor has stopped the SUV, and Christian holds out his hand to me. So with one final sigh of resignation, I shake my head with a smile and take it.

Surprisingly not much later, and I – Anastasia Steele – am the owner of a gleaming silver Saab. Huh, who would have guessed. Certainly not me less than two months ago – working for the Clayton's and driving around Wanda, praying every time I sat behind the wheel that today wouldn't be the day she decided to quit on me. _Oh the luxuries of having a rich boyfriend, I guess. _

And despite Christian's constant reassurance that he "wants to do it" and "it's nothing", I still can't help with feeling of discomfort with all this largess and having him bestow it on me in such a way. My fingers knot in front of me. _This isn't me. _Coming to terms with being with a man like Christian Grey is hard enough – because honestly, I still can't believe it – but having him shower me with wealth is a totally different ballgame.

But then I see it.

The dealer that Christian has been talking to was overjoyed when he heard what my over-generous boyfriend was looking for. He practically jumped up and down going on about how he _just happened _to have that exact make and model on the lot – just came in last week. That's about where I tuned out while Christian all but snapped his fingers and made it mine.

And here it is. Another dealer hops out, parking in front of the building where I've just been meandering, bored the last several minutes. _Whoa. _My inner goddess comes out, eyeing the sleek silver car, no doubt wondering what to wear while draped across the hood.

And though I'm not exactly thinking down her path, I'm not thinking about how uncomfortable I am with it anymore either….Because _I love it. _My eyes roam over the shiny new paint, the silver glinting in the subtle sun overhead, the slick curves and groves of the body. It's not a natural-looking sports car like Christian R8, but I _know _just by looking at it that it's fast.

"Do you like it?" Christian's voice comes from behind me, making me start a little. I didn't know he had reappeared. I turn around, moving my big eyes to him.

I can feel a sort of childish excitement bubble to the surface, like Christmas morning when you see a shiny new bike. "I love it." I see him smile, but my eyes find their way back to the car before he can do or say anything else.

He comes up beside me just as I think about going to get a closer look. "I'll have it delivered to Escala." And my little childish bubble pops just like that. I pin my confused stare to him.

"Why can't I just drive it there?" The utter bewilderment is blatantly obvious in my voice.

Christian shakes his head. "Not right now."

I turn more toward him. "Why?" I press. _He just bought me a car but won't even let me drive it? What the fuck?_

"Because." He runs a hand through his ruffled hair. "You're not going to be alone right now."

"Then come with me, and have Taylor follow us." I speak like as if he's a five year old, the logic seeming to go straight over his head. Or maybe it's me that's missing something.

He stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, not looking at me as he says, "I don't like being driven around." His words are grumbled slightly and that hot as fuck pout touches his lips. It'd be making me squirm if I wasn't so damn confused.

"But Taylor drives you around all the time." I'm really started to get exasperated. I don't think I've ever had a conversation go nowhere so quickly before.

"That's different. Taylor can drive a tank if he wanted to. His reflexes are superior to most people."

I cross my arms. "Are you saying you don't want to ride with me?"

He gives me a sideways glance, a small apologetic smile crossing his lips. And he shrugs. I snort, rolling my eyes.

"Well what if I want to drive it?" I try to keep the saucy, defiant tone out of my voice, but judging by the way Christian narrows his eyes, I'd say I didn't succeed. He pauses for a moment.

When he speaks, it's slowly. "What if I told you no?"

This time, there's no way I can help the pert reply. "The car is in my name – as you so kindly informed me. And the last I checked, I was a grown woman with a license." I dare him with my eyes to say the words I know he's dying to. I listen. And listen. But he surprises me because I never hear them.

Instead, he looks beyond me, and barks, "Taylor." A few seconds later, Taylor appears to my left.

"Sir?"

Christian sighs, running another hand through his hair again. He speaks to Taylor but keeps his sight on me. "Miss Steele wants to break in her new car herself." He manages to give me a sardonic smile, with narrowed eyes. "Follow us."

Taylor nods, and though I glance at him, he gives none of his thoughts away behind that blank expression, turning to go back to the Audi. Christian turns back to me.

He releases a huge sigh. "Challenging as ever, Miss Steele? Ah, _what_ am I going to do with you?"

I give him a wicked smirk. "I can of several things you can do with me, Mr. Grey. All of which include my new fancy car over there." I wave my hand vaguely at it. "And I might just show you some of them since you were so gracious about letting me drive it."

He stares at me with amused disbelief. "Are you trying to bribe me with sex, Miss Steele?" His lips are parted and curved into the ghost of a smile.

My smirk gets bigger, downright devious now. "Well, judging by the way your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, I'm not _trying _so much as succeeding." I make a dramatic display of being smug, looking at my fingernails and buffing them on my shirt. Christian chuckles, a wide grin stretched across his face. And damn if the sight isn't so beautiful that it makes my heart swell and ache.

"Okay," he says, holding up his hands. "Let's get out of here before you decide to use those feminine wiles for anything else.

A minute later, I find myself sitting inside my new car, almost ready to start bouncing as Christian tries to show me everything and the basic gist of how it works. I'm guessing by his familiarity with it, he must have owned one himself at one time. He shows me the ignition, and when I turn it, the car purrs to life, making my face break with a grin.

Christian shifts in his seat, clicking his seatbelt into place with a bemused frown on his face. I want to roll my eyes at him and tell him to chill.

Instead, I turn and ask, "Do we have to go straight to Escala?"

He glances at me, that frown deepening. "I would prefer it."

I give him my best pout and puppy dog eyes. After a beat, he sighs, rolling his eyes. "Where do want to go?"

"Nowhere. I just want to drive around for a while." I stroke the steering wheel. "You know – bonding time."

He hesitates, not happy about that idea, but finally he gestures in front of us. "By all means – drive wherever your heart desires." he says grudgingly.

I grin, leaning over the center console to give him a quick peck on the cheek. At least that makes him smile. Turning forward again, I check my mirrors swiftly, seeing Taylor is ready to start following behind. And then I'm off. The gas petal takes the lightest of pressure to accelerate, and I take it easy, getting a feel of it while I pull out of the dealership parking lot.

When we hit the road, I try not to notice how Christian goes stiff in his seat. But after a minute or two of watching him out of the corner of my eye, it gets ridiculous.

"Would you please relax. I am not gunna kill us."

His eyes flash to mine. "Watch the road," he snaps. I sigh, turning my attention forward.

"I've been driving for years now without so much as a parking ticket. I think you're going to be okay."

"It's not you," he says. "I told you – I simply don't like being driven around like this."

I smirk, fighting the urge to glance at him again. "You should let me take you for a spin out on a Ducati. _That _would make you loosen up."

"What is it with you and motorcycles?" I see his hand go through his hair.

"What is it with you being so against motorcycles? Have you ever even tried one out?"

"I have actually." His tone sounds smug. "I have a few at my house in Aspen."

Both of those statements totally take me by surprise. "Wait? You have a house in Aspen?" I don't know why I didn't suspect this. He's a freaking billionaire – or course he's going to have more than one home.

"Eyes on the road, Anastasia," he presses again and I snap my head away again. "Yes I have a house there." His tone softens. "I'd love to take you there. I think you'd really like the area."

I hesitate, thinking. I don't want to agree too enthusiastically just in case he would get any ideas of whisking me away asap. In fact with all this security shit, that would be just what he would want to do. So instead of setting myself up, I think of another question.

"Do you have any other properties?"

"I have another apartment in New York because I'm there on business so much. It's much smaller than Escala though. But that's all other than those."

_Hmm. Only three…not nearly as much as I expected. _Before I can comment on this new bit of information, he speaks again. "Do you like Escala?" _What?_ This time, he doesn't snap my head off when I glance his way to see him looking at me with real curiosity.

I look back at the road, making a turn. "Who wouldn't like a place like that?"

"But do _you _like it?"

"Yes." _Where is he going with this?_

"Enough to call it home?" My eyes fly to his, shocked. And I can tell he's being serious. This isn't the type of conversation I want to have while I'm driving, so I signal, and without saying anything, I pull off into the first place I come to. Looking at the sign, it's a restaurant, but the type that doesn't open until middle afternoon, so there's no one here for now. I pull into the first parking space, Taylor following me dutifully. I put it in park, turning in the seat to look at Christian.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Me? What are _you _doing?"

He looks taken aback. "I just asked you if you liked the apartment."

"Enough to call it home? Where exactly are you going with this?" I keep my voice level.

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just want to make sure that you're happy enough there that…one day..." His voice trails and he look away for a second. "You won't want to leave."

_Breathe, Ana. Breathe. _"Are you…is that a reference to me moving in?" I speak carefully, slowly. As soon as the words are out, Christian's eyes flash back to mine, lit with a spark that I can see he's trying hard to suppress, an excitement. And I know I've hit a nerve.

"Yes," he answers slowly, watching me carefully. When he sees nothing, he goes on. "And I know you're more than likely not ready for that, but I want you to know that it's something I want."

I hesitate, putting it together. "You want me to…move in?" I watch as he nods, wide eyed and looking more than a little nervous. Suddenly, I'm on the defensive. "Christian…we've only been back together for two days."

"I know," he says quickly. "I know it'll take you some time, but it is a step I want to take."

"A very big step," I huff. "It takes some couples years to get to that point."

"Since when have we ever done anything slow?" He gives me a sardonic smile. I give him a reproving look. "I'm serious, Christian."

He sobers. "So am I." He unbuckles his seatbelt, turning toward me and taking my hands in his. "Do you know how it makes me feel just thinking about being able to come home to you? Going through a long, shitty day – knowing that when I go back to the apartment, you'll be there waiting for me? Our being able to say 'our home'? Because what I want more than anything is our life together. And I want us to_ be _together in every way possible."

My lips part, sucking in a ragged breath. The small space of the car is suddenly confining, filled entirely by the emotion radiating off of him. M head is reeling, logically rejecting the idea. But my heart is doing flips in my chest, already longing for the beautiful picture he's just painted. Being with Christian every night…oh my. But yet again, my head and my heart aren't agreeing, and I'm caught in the middle of the warfare between my subconscious and my inner goddess.

Christian answers his own initial question. "That makes me unbelievably happy." His fingers come up, pulling on my chin and making me release my bottom lip. "Breathe, baby."

I suck in breath I didn't know I was holding. My lips curve down into a frown as I look away. He's just said he knows it's soon, and that I'm probably not ready, but I can tell that this idea means a lot to him so I don't want to hurt his feelings. _Tread carefully, Ana. _my subconscious warns seriously.

I shift in my seat. "I want that too…" I say quietly.

"But?" He prompts, knowingly.

I look back at him. "But it's not a decision I'm ready to make. I just got out of college. I wanted to be independent for a while."

"So it has nothing to do with me?"

I shake my head. "No." He stares at me a long moment, scrutinizing my face before he nods slowly, his lips pressed together.

Finally, the tense moment of silence is broken when he looks back up, forcing himself to brighten. "So? You never did answer my question about Escala?"

My lips twitch in grateful amusement for his distraction. "Well…Escala is gorgeous…"

"But?"

"It's not a _home. _Which is expected since it _is _a bachelor pad."

His lips curve into a smile and his eyebrows lift. "Bachelor pad?"

I nod. "Alright. Well, we'll work on making a home together," he concludes. My heart melts. Making a home with Christian. _Wow. How did everything change this fast?_

I'm just about to say something, but suddenly the silence is interrupted by the dull buzz of Christian's Blackberry. He frowns, fishing it out of his pocket. Glancing at it, he brings it to his ear.

"Grey." After a moment, his eyes flash to mine, a look of almost worry appearing in them. "Okay," he says. "Miss Steele is with me. Meet us at my apartment. We'll be there."

After another second, he hangs up. I give him a quizzical look. "Who are we meeting?"  
"Detective Clark wants to talk to you," he says grimly. My heart falls to my feet. A sense of panic settles in my stomach. Christian takes notice immediately.

"It's nothing major as far as I can tell. Just a follow-up," he reassures me. But it doesn't really help. Because in my mind, all I can see is Jack's face as he leaned in, trying to kiss me.

"You said he'd probably make bail this week," I say through pale lips. His jaw tightens. "Yes. But he's not getting anywhere near you, Anastasia. I promise." He pauses, letting that sink in. "Clark is on his way to Escala. So we need to be getting back."

I nod mechanically, turning back in my seat, and trying to recall how to drive. _It's okay _I reassure myself as I put it back in gear. I had gotten so caught up with everything that's been going, it seems like I had magically forgotten about the whole ordeal. Though I should have known he'd want to talk to me again. I turn the car toward the right direction, blowing out a sigh of relief as I glance over at the passenger seat.

At least this time around, I'll have Christian with me. And suddenly, talking to Clark doesn't seem half as daunting.

* * *

**A/N: Okay hope u guys liked it! Just a couple filler chapters basically. Anyway, since i last updated i found a new story! and OMG it is AMAZING! It's called Fifty Shades: Slow and Steady by Mrs. Fraser. So instead of waiting for me to hurry my ass up and update, i figured u guys would like to kill the time by reading her story - cause trust me, she writes way better than i do!**

**Here's the link! Just click and prepare for your minds to be blown!**

** s/9660909/1/Fifty-Shades-Slow-and-Steady**


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